When Death Flees
by Etimire T
Summary: Everyone dies. That's what people do. But not me. Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective and unfortunate immortal. After waking up from my untimely death (which was meant to be fake) life has become far more complex. Now, to solve the ultimate mystery. Why me?
1. When Death Flees

Summary: I died for the first time today, like _actually_ died, and it won't be the last. Death can't seem to keep me, even though it defies all logic for me to survive my jump off the hospital roof. So now here I am, several hours later, Sherlock Holmes, locked in the morgue, running out if air, and supposed to be dead. And to top it all off, the only one who can help me is this bow-tie sporting idiot called The Doctor.

* * *

I gasped, my mouth dry as I struggled to draw life into my lungs. Why can't I breathe? It's always been so easy, in, out, in, out, but now taking a breath the hardest thing I'd ever done. My heart stuttered in my chest, like kick starting a car. It began beating frantically, making up for the lack of air. After what felt like a million years of gapping like a fish out of water, something gave way and oxygen rushed through me. Gulping it down, I tried to recuperate using my usual logical process.

How did I get here? _Wherever _here_ is…_ A memory sparked across my closed eyelids, making me tremble. There's not a lot I am truly afraid of, but those last few moments as I fell through the air, realizing I wasn't going to survive, were the most terrifying in my life.

It's then that I recall my life should have ended. I should be dead. Silly Sherlock Holmes with the funny scarf, running about solving crimes to keep him self from going mad had failed. Sure I had a plan to survive. It was all worked out in my head, but when the moment came, I slipped up. I fell, and there was no one there to catch me.

I could feel the wind send its fingers through my hair like the busybody it was. It lifted my black coat behind me, a morbid cape. As the ground grew closer, I never closed my eyes; instead I screamed, utterly terrified. The concrete rushed up to me, I felt a sharp pain in my neck, and the world flicked off like a light switch.

So was this death, then? Some sort of rubbish afterlife? No, of course not. That was ridiculous. Beneath me, I could feel ice cold metal. On top was the slight weight of a sheet. If I was dead then… well, I didn't know. Can dead people feel? My heart was beating in my chest, rewound and slowly counting down again. Deciding I wasn't deceased, I tried to move. However, the moment I did, spasms of pins and needles flashed like lightning down my arms and legs. I gasped, thrashing in pain as cramps locked my legs. My head slammed against the ceiling and my arms against the walls. Suppose that's what you get when your blood stops moving for… for however long it stopped. It only felt like a moment had passed since I'd hit the ground, but that was unlikely. Moaning, I lay still.

A sudden thought typed its way across my closed eyelids accompanied by a spark of fear. Was I in a coffin? The walls were close enough to be one, however, my fear died down as my mind automatically started deducing. _Calm down, Sherlock, this isn't a horror film…_ It was freezing in here, like a fridge. Coffins aren't cold, and coffins aren't metal… usually. Flicking open my eyes, I was met by identical darkness. Cautiously, I clenched my fist and lifted it to the ceiling above me. I met resistance about two feet from my face. Slowly uncurling my fingers, I pressed against the ceiling with both hands. With care, I traced down the walls. My heart raced for a moment, claustrophobia attempting to overwhelm me. My breath came fast and I shut my eyes quickly. _Stop it_. I told myself sternly. _You'll never get out if you panic._

After a moment, I managed to get my heart rate down to a reasonable level. _How to escape… I need to concentrate on escaping… _And to do that, I needed to know where I was. Biting my lip, I felt pain_. Not a dream, then…_ Lifting my hands in a praying position beneath my chin that I found comforting, I opened the door and stepped into my mind palace.

I found myself in a library with thousands of books stacked in twenty foot tall bookshelves. Sunlight fell in sheets through floor-to-ceiling stain glass windows. Peace washed through me. I admired the way my mind filled the gaps in a setting without me having to explicitly think about it. Out the window was a garden, and inside, the wooden floor was spotlessly clean. I could see the inverted reflection of myself at my feet. This was where I kept all my memories, each book a different scene. Smirking, I slowly wound in and out of the book shelves, waiting for a book to catch my eye. There was a memory in here that could help me figure out where I was, I just needed to find it.

After a few moments, my eye fell on a small binder. Reaching forward, I picked it up and opened it to a page at random. I watched the scene around me fade like a chalk painting in rain, to be replaced by a memory. It was a few hours before I met John for the first time.

_"Are you sure this is necessary?" Molly murmured nervously, clutching her clipboard. Her white coat blended in with the surrounding walls of the morgue. It smelled like antiseptic and cleaning supplies in here._

_"Don't be ridiculous, of course it's necessary, Mary." I murmured, inspecting the metal cupboards where dead bodies were placed. I unlocked one and carefully inspected the blue corpse within. "Hmm… A bit fatter, I think." The body had to be exactly the right size for my experiment to work correctly._

_Molly swept a hair from her face, "It's Molly, actually."_

_I didn't glance up, "Did you say something?"_

_The girl, she didn't really look like a woman, appeared flustered. "Um- no. No," she laughed nervously, and I wondered why, "I'm going to just leave you to your-uh- work."_

_In the long run, I suppose I should have given her a response of some sort, but I was too busy inspecting the body in cupboard 3B. The corpse wasn't exactly what I needed, but it would suffice._

_"Okay!' Molly said brightly after an awkward pause. I heard her footsteps as she walked away and I sighed. Keep everyone at arms length, be clueless, don't react, those were just a few of the rules I gave myself. These rules kept me safe; they kept me from getting hurt. I didn't have room in my mind to pick up on social clues because I needed space to solve my mysteries. After a while, being distant got easier and I did it without even trying._

Gasping, I sat up suddenly, my mind palace dissipating like smoke. My forehead smacked against the ceiling, but I didn't care.

_The metal cabinets_. Good grief, I was in one of the metal cabinets at the morgue! Once more I felt panic overwhelm me. These things were air sealed like a refrigerator! How long would the oxygen last? _Only a few minutes, judging by the size_. If I didn't get out of here soon, I'd suffocate and die-erm- die _again_. I shook the thought away. It's impossible I died, otherwise I wouldn't be alive. Someone had made a mistake, or something. That happened sometimes, right?

I didn't really believe that. Maybe on the operation table someone may be dead for a few minutes, but by the time the body was put in the cabinets, they were dead for at least an hour. Shivering, I dismissed the notion. I didn't have time to think about that.

The room was already feeling extremely suffocating and I shortened my breaths. I needed to make noise. Maybe someone would hear and let me out? I almost laughed. This entire situation was like one of those cheesy movies that always came out around Halloween. I'd be convincing people that the zombie apocalypse had overstepped the bounds of fiction.

Whatever, I needed to get out. Gathering up the thin air, I shouted at the top of my lungs, banging and kicking the walls. After several minutes, my throat was raw and my knuckles bruised. Still no response. Resuming my shouts, I continued until I was gasping for air that wasn't there. I coughed, and lay still. How ironic, to survive such a long fall only to die in a dead person fridge...

My breath became more and more shallow. _Dead person fridge, that's what they should be called_, I thought disjointedly. Stars appeared behind my closed lids and I gave up. _Fine_. _I'm supposed to be dead any way. _The world grew even darker, if that was possible, and I knew in a few moments I'd be unconscious.

It was in that last moment, I heard the air seal release. Groaning faintly, I felt someone pulling me out. An onrush of oxygen met my lungs. Gagging and coughing, I breathed in the air. It's amazing how much we take for granted things like oxygen. Now I was gulping it down like I could never get enough.

After a moment, I calmed down enough to open my eyes again. I realized someone had opened the door of the cabinet, and I stared up at the blurry form my rescuer.

I blinked, even the slight light was blinding. Squinting, I managed to bring into focus the person above me. Confusion coiled around me at the sight.

My voice was crackled and dry, the way it was when I almost got strangled a while back. "Mycroft?" I whispered hoarsely.


	2. Sheets and Umbrellas

Chapter 2

I don't think I've ever seen my brother so rattled. His whole 'English gentlemen' display came crashing down and he stared. If we were not in this current situation, I would have teased his pale face and shaking hands, but… that was a bit out of the question now. Granted, if I really had died, he had a reason to be afraid. However, that's ridiculous. People don't just 'come back'.

"Good grief, he told the truth." Mycroft whispered. His eyes grew wide, and he stumbled back a step or two. "I didn't- I saw you- how can you be-"

I sat up slowly, pinching between my eyebrows where a horrid headache was beginning to form. I groaned, "It would be absolutely _delightful_ if you would shut up about now." My words were spoken quietly, but it was like gunfire to my brother.

He froze, pupils dilating. "Sherlock, is it really you?" He looked away from me, babbling, "No, it can't be. This isn't real- it's not real- you're not-"

"_Mycroft_!" I whisper-shouted as loud as my near suffocated throat would allow me. "For all things scientific, _get control of yourself_!"

He calmed down then, straightening his jacket, swiping his balding head with a handkerchief, and picking up his abandoned umbrella. I never understood Mycroft's insistence on that particular fashion statement. To the common observer, he was perfectly collected, but I'm his brother. He was terrified and one poke would send him sprawling. I guess that's what happens when you pull a very much alive brother from a dead person fridge after you watched him commit 'suicide'. I probably should have cut him some slack… but then again, this is _Mycroft_ I'm talking about. The brother who used to tell me I was dropped off in a suitcase on the back porch when I was just an infant, or that I was found sinking in the river behind our summer home. He did everything he could do to be just about the worst brother ever.

_ Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me_. Ha! Tell that to Mycroft. There were times I would rather he used sticks and stones than his chosen weapon. He was never the violent type, preferring to use words as his henchmen to inflict wounds upon his adversary, namely me. He was largely the reason started to I keep myself from everyone else.

No, I wasn't giving him any slack. "Mycroft, I don't think you understand the concept of the _trust fall_."

Mycroft bit his lip. Hard. "Drat it, Sherlock!"

"You better have a heck of an explanation." I muttered. Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I realized at that moment that the sheet was all I wore. Snatching at it, I kept the white covering from slipping to the floor. _Well,_ I thought, _I've been worse places in just a sheet._

Mycroft leaned against a metal table, his eyes glued to me. "Sherlock." He said.

I glanced up at him, meeting my brother's gaze. The light from the emergency exit light across the room stung my eyes and I blinked rapidly. After a moment, the pain dulled and I could see again. When my eyes met his once more, it was like for an instant I could see straight into his soul. Mycroft was an open book. He didn't know what was happening, and he wasn't just afraid, he was _terrified_.

_I'm seeing a pigtails, maybe eight or nine year's old, frilly skirt. _A voice butted into my thoughts, the memory of a something I couldn't quite remember. I shook the disconcerting feeling away and it fled without resistance.

Mycroft stood in front of me at loss. "You're dead." The words fell like drool from his mouth and pooled between us.

Snorting, I rolled my eyes and then quickly regretted the action. My seed of a headache was maturing nicely. "If I'm dead then how am I alive?" I asked it like it was for his benefit- like I knew the answer, but the same eight words were screaming inside my head.

Mycroft shook his head. "We failed, Sherlock. We all failed, and you died." He turned away for a moment, biting his knuckles. "I watched you fall and I couldn't save you." He was getting worked up again, "I saw the blood on the concrete mixed with yesterday's rain. It was _real_ blood, Sherlock. Your blood."

I had two responses to this. Either absolute panic, or insolence. "You've turned into a real poet, brother."

Mycroft's face reddened with anger and for a moment I thought he would throttle me. "If I had not just seen you with a broken neck dead on an operating table, I would kill you."

"That's very comforting."

"Don't push your luck."

I could see our banter had calmed him to a more reasoning level. "I must not have been dead."

Mycroft shook his head, "No, no, this wasn't-" He shook his head despairingly, "They took you in on an operating table, even though you died on impact-" he stared at the ceiling, like his answers were thumbtacked up there, "Jeeze- I cannot believe I am having this conversation."

"If it's any comfort, you did not wake up in a morgue- in the refrigerator." I said, "I think I win the 'I can't believe this is happening' contest."

Mycroft rolled his eyes, "Good point." We were both silent for a moment, but as usual, Mycroft couldn't keep his mouth shut for more than a five second average. "I felt your pulse." He murmured. "There was nothing."

Shrugging, I tried to appear unconcerned, "You were mistaken."

"Maybe." Mycroft said, "But that wasn't all."

I groaned inwardly. "What else?"

"Your neck…" he fell silent, staring at the floor now.

"Mycroft." I warned, "Tell me."

My brother bit his lip. "I touched it- your neck, just to be sure it was truly broken. I- I had to know for sure."

My lips curled back in aversion, "Jeeze Mycroft, that's disgusting." I paused, "Was it like-"

"What?"

I shrugged, "All crooked," I demonstrated with my hands.

Mycroft gave me a look, "You are taking all this better than I would think."

"Yes, well, it's not crooked anymore, is it?" I put my hands up to my neck, "That would be rather bothersome," Suddenly, the memory of a loud snap filled my ears. I blinked it away, shivering. It snapped back into place while I was in the body cupboard thing. Good grief, what the heck was happening to me? My neck was apparently normal now, as far as I could tell. I turned to Mycroft who had the panicked look on his face again.

"There's a reasonable explanation for this." He stated.

"Obviously." Came my answer.

"I'm afraid the answer isn't as obvious as the fact that there is an answer."

I blinked, deciding not to answer that question, or statement, or whatever that was. "Yeah."

It was then that we heard a key in the lock. Someone was coming into the morgue! Mycroft's eyes grew even wider. I think his eyes might have just rolled out of his head if he did that again. "Hide!" He whisper-shouted.

I was sitting on the metal tray, halfway out of the dead-person fridge. "What? Where?"

"I don't know! In there!" he pointed at the fridge.

"Like _heck_! I am _not_ going back inside that!" I protested.

Mycroft gave me his typical you-are-such-a-pain-in-the-butt look and pulled me off the tray. I stumbled, my legs like taffy. A line from a movie I would never admit to watching played through my head, '_It just so happens that your friend here is only MOSTLY dead. There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive.'_

No. I shook the thought away. I was _not_ resorting to fantasy… Yet.

"Quick!" Mycroft hissed.

I tied the sheet tighter around my waist. "My apologies, the legs are not working at the moment." I took approximately three steps before tripping into a desk. "Apparently they haven't gotten the message."

Mycroft gritted his teeth, "If you make me carry you, Sherlock, I swear, I will not be gentle."

I glanced down at my sheet and straightened, relying on the desk beside me. "Got it. I'm fine- let's go."

Mycroft nodded hastily, pulling me along. I stumbled after him, in no state to resist. The door opened the moment we secured ourselves within a coat closet across the room. I heard a voice, "I'll be out in a minute, just left my keys,"

I held my breath, squished up against a broom, several lab coats and work pants. Mycroft was in front of me with the most laughable expression on his face. It was somewhere between mortification and- well, more mortification if you can imagine.

"I take it you haven't hidden in a broom closet lately." I murmured.

"Shut it."

A smirk shifted to my lips. Solving crime and irking my older brother- what a brilliant way to live. "That's what you get for being 'posh', Mycroft. No fun, just board meetings and paperwork. How _do_ you survive? You know there is a reason they're called _board_ meetings-"

"Do you _want_ to be found?" He hissed.

"Actually," I continued, ignoring him, "You're practically the British government, what are they going to do if they find you snooping around a morgue in the middle of the night? It's not like they can arrest you." I frowned, "Is _it_ the middle of the night?"

"Just past twelve-" Mycroft muttered, "And it would ruin my image."

"You could say you're visiting your dead brother." I paused, "mourning or something. I really wouldn't mind."

"You are an insolent prick."

"And you are a posh idiot."

"I saved your life!" he protested.

I snorted, "Yeah, after you killed me."

I'm afraid we were so involved in our argument that we didn't notice the footsteps stop in front of the door until it swung open. What a sight we must have been, Mycroft with his umbrella, and me in a sheet, crammed together like sardines in that coat closet.

The woman's face went white. Her eyes bounced from Mycroft to me. "Sh-Sherlock?" she sputtered

I bit my lip, "Hello, again."

The woman didn't finish her next sentence, and I don't blame her. Molly Hooper fainted dead away.


	3. A Bright-Eyed Stranger

Chapter Three

A Bright Eyed Stranger

_Somewhere in Time and Space…_

The Doctor spun in a circle, adding an extra flourish to his already exceptional driving; at least, that's what he told himself. Lights blinked, mechanics whizzed, and a rather random popcorn machine popped. At the moment there was no one to show off too, and the Doctor slowly slid to a stop. The word 'pond' died in his mouth. That's right; they weren't here. What was the point of flourishes if no one appreciated his brilliance?

Sighing, he plucked at a lever and sat down heavily in a convenient chair he had not noticed before that very moment. Although it was hard to admit, even to himself, the Doctor knew he needed the Ponds. They were on Earth, watching ridiculously _boring_ black cubes instead of seeing the universe! (Talk about _priorities_.) He left after a few excruciating hours and went on adventures without them. If they wanted to stay home instead of being with him, that's fine, the Doctor would prove he didn't need them, but at the moment, he couldn't even convince himself.

The Doctor bit his lip, letting the TARDIS drift through the Time Vortex. Maybe he should go back; just pop in to say hello? The Doctor shook his head, they wouldn't leave until a whole year had passed and the cubes were deemed safe. "Maybe later," he murmured to himself. Leaning forward the Doctor covered his face with pale hands, elbows against knobby knees. For an instant, the Doctor's true age shined through. He looked like a young man, but he was old- _so_ old. Sometimes the weight of his years came crashing down onto his skinny shoulders and he could barely hold it up. This was why he needed companions- to help him forget the weight. Perhaps he could pick up River later today- or tonight- or whatever time it was, she always cheered him up.

A moment after the thought drifted away, the Doctor felt the air shift behind him. He was going to ignore it, but suddenly, the alien felt a light hand upon his left shoulder. Starting in surprise, the Doctor jumped out of the chair and knocked against the console. He swiveled around, ready for the worse, and gaped at the sight before him. He couldn't believe his eyes. "How the- where in- _what_?"

The man before him wore a dark trench coat and a navy-blue scarf. He was a few inches taller than the Doctor and brownish-black curls fell into icy-blue eyes that interestingly enough, shimmered gold around the edges. His entire demeanor was reserved, like he tried to pull away from the world, but a light in the stranger's eyes betrayed raw excitement. For a moment, the gold ring around the edge of his irises threatened to overwhelm the whole eye-but just for a moment. However, what intrigued, and startled the Doctor the most, and there isn't much that startles a 1000+ year old Time Lord, was that if the Doctor looked carefully, he could see the walls of the TARDIS behind the man. The stranger wasn't quite solid.

Opening his mouth to babble once more, The Doctor was stopped by the man's raised hand. "Shh- no. Don't say anything. This is a lot harder to do when in motion." the man's eyes snapped shut and he appeared to be concentrating.

The Doctor stared, "_Hard_? It's _impossible_!" his voice squeaked in indignation.

Suddenly, there was a distinct pop in the air, like air pressure releasing. The man stumbled on the stairs, gripping a metal railing tightly. "Impossible, Doctor?" he smirked grimly, "I beg to differ." His voice was quiet, but in a lower register than the Doctor's. Distinctly, the Doctor felt the TARDIS murmur in the back of his mind.

_Purring? Seriously? Since when do you _purr_?!_

The man looked up. "It's nice to see you too,"

"Sorry, _what_?" the Doctor sputtered.

Somehow the man knew him… _probably a future acquaintance_, the Doctor thought. It was not unusual for him to run into people he met in the future. However, that didn't explain how the stranger got in the TARDIS while she was still traveling. Glancing at the man's wrists, the Doctor was disturbed to see a lack of vortex manipulators. How did the stranger get inside? The Doctor raced past the man, who was fully solid now, and flung open the entrance of the police box. The Time Vortex swirled in beautiful, dangerous complexity outside, and the Doctor slammed the door shut. Swiveling on his heels, he frowned at the man. "How on _Gallifrey_ did you get in here?" he demanded in bafflement, "We're smack dab in the middle of the blooming Time Vortex!" flinging his hands in the air, he paced for a moment, "You can't just-" he gestured desperately with his hands, "Just _materialize_! And I-" he raced to the consul to confirm his next statement; "Yes- yes, see?" he pointed at the screen, "I even have the shields up."

The man pulled out an IPhone for a moment before looking back up at the Doctor. "Um- no, sorry. I really can't tell you how I got here."

"Says _who_?!"

"You do." He gestured to the IPhone, where seemingly, he received instructions.

Well then. That put things into perspective a bit. Sort of. Maybe a pinch. "Future me. Interesting." the Doctor stepped forward, extending his screwdriver. He needed to know if the stranger was human, which he began to doubt was true.

The man looked at his phone again. He held a hand up. "No, you can't do that either."

"You're on _my_ ship. I have full rights!" the Doctor protested. He tried to scan him once more.

"I said no." the man stated, casually tapping the screwdriver away with a pale finger. The sonic sparked and the Doctor dropped it in shock. It rolled over the edge of the glass floor and fell into the depths of the TARDIS.

The Doctor didn't notice. He stared at the man in renewed speculation and curiosity. "Who _are_ you?" he asked.

Peering in mild surprise at his hand, the stranger ignored the Doctor, "Oh that's new," he murmured, inspecting his fingers, "Should have tried that _ages_ ago."

"_What_?"

Shoving his hands into coat pockets, the man bounced on his toes for a moment, "I don't really have time to chat. I'm not sure how long I can stay." The man flickered, "The Doctor says to tell you-" suddenly he disappeared.

The Doctor rolled his eyes, grabbing at his hair. He spun in a circle, "Tell me _what_?"

The stranger reappeared behind the Doctor, stumbling into him, "Sorry, bad connection. I'm not exactly an expert at this sort of thing." He frowned, "well I am, I suppose, in comparison to everyone el-"

"You have a message." The Doctor interrupted. If his future self intended him to hear what this man said, it was probably important.

"Yes, right." The stranger nodded, "You need to tell Mycroft Holmes to let his brother out of the morgue."

The Doctor blinked. That's it? "But how-?" The stranger blinked out of existence, enticing a grumble from the Doctor.

Right. He had instructions, but the Doctor couldn't go through with them unless he had the-

"Coordinates!" The stranger shouted like it was an afterthought, snapping into view once more. He handed the Doctor a folded sheet of paper. "Here you are."

The Doctor took it. Unfolding the paper revealed bits of scribbling in Gallifreyan. The Doctor read it quickly and glanced up at the dark-haired stranger. "This is my handwriting."

"Obviously." The stranger disappeared and then appeared once more in another spot. "Oh, and Doctor?"

"What now?"

The stranger took an item out of his pocket and enclosed it in the Doctor's hand. "You'll need this," he vanished.

The Doctor hesitated, waiting to see if the stranger appeared again. He didn't.

Slowly, the Doctor turned to the console and began entering the coordinates into the TARDIS database. After getting about halfway through the address, the stranger appeared again.

The Doctor jumped out of his skin, smacking the top of his head on the screen. "Would you _please_ stop doing that!"

The stranger didn't seem to hear, "When you find Mycroft, give that-" he pointed at the item he had given the Doctor, "-to him and have him put it in John's front pocket." He turned away, walking toward the front of the TARDIS. "I'll take the door this time!" he called over his shoulder.

"Wait! Who's John? Or Mycroft- for that matter" the Doctor cried, racing after the retreating figure. Suddenly, he realized what the stranger intended to do. "You can't go out there!"

The stranger's eyes shined brightly. He swung open the doors, glancing back at the alien in grim amusement, "Can't I?" and with that the stranger jumped out of the TARDIS and disappeared from view.

"NO!" the Doctor screamed after him, but it was too late. No one could survive inside the Time Vortex without protection. Already, the man would be dead.

The Doctor shook his head, shutting the door quickly. What a day this was… Opening his fist, the Doctor beheld his sonic screwdriver.


	4. Loose Brick on the Left

Chapter 3

"What do we do with her?" I asked, staring at the woman.

Mycroft scowled, he perfected that expression years ago. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he muttered, "I'll get someone to clear the hospital halls."

"We can take her to your house, or _estate_, if you prefer."

"My house?" Mycroft rolled my eyes, "To risky, there are all sorts of people around. Someone might see you. Why not Bakers Street? It's closer anyway." He powered down the IPhone and quickly exited the morgue.

"John will probably be there."

"And?" he glanced back, halfway through the doorway.

"And wasn't this whole fake suicide supposed to convince him I'm dead?"

"Him and others," Mycroft replied, like I didn't know. "You need to get some clothes on."

I rolled my eyes. "It's not like they people haven't seen me in a sheet before." I recalled the incident at Buckingham Palace fondly.

"Yes," Mycroft spoke slowly, "And it attracted a good deal of attention, which is exactly what we do _not_ need. We need a plan before everyone realizes you're… back."

I was half tempted to refuse to put on clothes just because Mycroft asked, but grudgingly I saw the logic in his statement. Turning to the closet we _so_ successfully hid in, I snatched a pair of grey work pants and a stray lap coat. Quickly replacing the sheet with the clothes, I folded the lab coat over my chest. I glanced down at my torso and noticed bits of dried blood pasted onto my body, but not a single cut. Curious and disconcerted, I felt the side of my head to discover my hair was caked in the same substance; however, there was no injury of any sort.

For some reason this realization made my breath hitch in my chest. If it was truly a mistake, if I had somehow managed not to die, then wouldn't I still have some injuries? I glanced at my wrist, where the handcuffs me and John wore an eternity ago had chafed the skin.

There was nothing.

Actually, every scar I had ever acquired was erased.

I was a clean slate.

_What?_

If Mycroft hadn't been around, I think I might have started to panic, closing my eyes, I berated myself, attempting to regain my composure.

It wasn't working. My hands shook and I felt terror claw at me. I would _not_ show such weakness in front of him Mycroft. I refused. Instead, I clenched my fists to keep them from shaking. I wasn't very successful, but it was better than nothing.

"So it's fine if John finds out." I stated, worried, but slightly relieved, "We can't keep me from Molly since she's…" I trailed off, gesturing at her prone form.

Mycroft nodded in understanding. "But you have to stay hidden from everyone else."

Picking Molly up like I would a child, I proceeded to the door. She didn't weigh much, and my legs cooperated better now; however, my arms still shook with fatigue like I'd run a marathon.

"You dying shifts the agenda a bit. He ought to know you're okay. We should only tell those who are absolutely necessary." My brother explained. "John is necessary."

Thinking about that for a moment, I was tempted to be irked by Mycroft's stubborn command of _every_ situation. Then I muttered, too tired to argue, "Alright."

Mycroft held open the door and I stepped through with Molly in my arms. He seemed surprised by my compliance, but didn't complain. Following after me, Mycroft and I observed the empty halls.

I suppose having a brother in command of an army of secret service agents and spies did have its perks… not that I'd admit it to Mycroft. Grunting in approval, I let my brother lead the way to a discrete EXIT sign that let out behind the hospital.

Outside, London was cloaked in darkness and a brisk wind cut through the thin lab coat draped loosely over my shoulders. I shivered, but was otherwise unaffected_. Strange,_ I thought. Usually I'd be tightening my coat and scarf against this sort of cold. Now a t-shirt would have been sufficient.

I didn't let myself dwell it, instead turning my attention to the non-descript black car pulling into the alleyway.

Glancing at Mycroft, I noted his non-expressive expression. He wasn't worried about the car. He was expecting it. The car ground to a stop and a man in a suit stepped out, opened the passenger door and quickly settled back into the driver's seat. It was obvious the driver intentionally tried to keep from discern the identity of anyone else besides Mycroft. In my brother's line of business, it was sometimes better not to know.

"A smart driver," I mentioned, setting Molly inside the car and climbing in after her.

Mycroft nodded absently, seated across from me. "Yes," he breathed, "He knows when not to get involved."

I nodded and we quickly lapsed into silence. The driver was on the other side of tinted glass, as was the rest of London.

The rain pattered lightly against the window, and I watched each bead as they slowly lost their grip and dripped down the glass. Leaning closer in boredom, I peered into the crystal droplets.

Suddenly my vision sharpened, like I was looking through a magnifying glass. I could see every detail the way a hawk might. The light struck each end of the droplets and bounced, glittering and shimmering. It was beautiful, but I jumped away, startled and confused.

Instantly my vision reverted to its normal state. Shaking my head to clear it, I leaned against my knees, hands behind my neck, and squeezed my eyes shut.

_What is happening to me?_

Mycroft frowned in concern, but I didn't notice, to busy trying to put my disorderly thoughts back in their appropriate cupboards. I think Mycroft wouldn't believe me if I told him everything I own, in my mind, and outside of it had a proper place. He only saw the conglomeration of my life, the idiot. I didn't mind anything being a bit chaotic, as long as everything was where it was supposed to be. Mycroft never understood that.

He doesn't understand that cleaning is just putting things in less obvious places. What _is_ the point again? I think I deleted the answer, if there ever was one.

Every time he went into my flat, I watched his lips curl in distaste at the 'mess' but it wasn't a mess, not really, it's only messy if things aren't where I want them. If I want it sitting in the middle of the floor, then it is perfectly fine, as long as it stays there and no one moves it, something John is _constantly_ doing.

John. My thoughts stopped at his name. How is this going to work? I glanced at Mycroft, "What am I going to do, jump out of a cake?"

Mycroft snorted, tapping his shoe with the umbrella. "I suppose you could just show up, like we're going to do. I'm sure he manage."

I nodded, inwardly admitting I am rubbish at this sort of thing.

Suddenly the car stopped, jerking us out of our quiet conversation. Exchanging a look with my brother, Mycroft climbed out of the car, checking whether we were alone. Apparently we were, because he gestured me to follow.

The pratt didn't take time to help me drag an unconscious woman from the car, but left me to do it myself. And our parents wonder why we never got along…

Huffing, I grabbed Molly and set her against a brick wall across from a small door. Mycroft spoke quickly to the driver, who promptly drove away. I nodded, watching my brother saunter over to us. I do believe I looked like a train wreck, but Mycroft only gave me a cursory glance. I suppose he realized there was not much anyone could do about my appearance right now.

"Where are we?" I asked. The night was dark and all I could see was the outline of a small alleyway.

Mycroft's eyebrows raised, "Behind Baker's Street, don't you recognize it?"

Blinking, I took a closer look. I took in the scratch at the bottom of the white backdoor, the overturned trashcan, and the crack straight down the sidewalk. I frowned, "I- yes, of course. It must have evaded me for a moment."

With a snort, Mycroft proceeded to the backdoor, "Aren't losing your touch are you, Sherlock?"

I gave him a short bark of laughter, "As if."  
Mycroft didn't reply, trying to door.

"It's locked." I supplied unhelpful.

"Thank you, brother. I can see." He paused, "Unlike you, apparently."

Wow. I suppose the whole clemency act after my returning was a fast fading action. I rolled my eyes. "The key is inside the loose brick at the bottom left corner."

Mycroft glared at me, reaching down and extracting the key.

I only came through this door when being chased, which happened quite a lot, as one might imagine.

Instantly I was swamped in a memory.

_"Which brick, Sherlock!" John shouted._

_Glancing behind us, I saw the black shirt of our pursuer. They followed us to Baker's street, but didn't know what house we lived it. "I- um…"_

_"SHERLOCK!"_

_"Alright!" I cried, bending down. "It's on the right- no, the left- no, right. I don't-"_

_"Now is _not_ the time to have a memory lapse!"_

_I groaned, pushing him away. Despite what everyone thinks, I really can't be expected to remember _everything_. "Just shut up for a second!"  
John huffed, pulling up to glance into to street. He leaned down against the door, as did I. "They're narrowing their search," he said. "Be here any second!"_

_"Like I don't know!" I quickly dived into my mind palace, cluttering up the place with my chaotic probing. It would take ages to put everything back in their proper place._

_ "AH!" my eyes flew open, locking with John's._

_"Not so loud!" he cautioned, "They'll hear us!"_

_I rolled my eyes, "And you weren't just shouting yourself!"_

_"Yeah? Well you're much louder when you yell, you-"_

_Suddenly the door concaved. We tumbled into the house, falling awkwardly into each other and a startled Mrs. Hudson._

_"Oh sorry dears," she chimed, "Was I interrupting?" she winked conspiratorially at John, an action I chose to ignore. He didn't realize she only said things like that to irk him. That woman was far more intelligent than people gave her credit._

_John rolled his eyes, standing and brushing himself off. "For the last time Mr Hudson, we are not-"_

_"John! I suggest we go upstairs," I interrupted, shutting the door. "If I'm quick I might be able to calculate their next move." I'd already move on from their petty, and may I say, _continual_ banter._

_John nodded, back to business. I noted the gleam of pleasure in his eye. He loved doing this, just like me. _

_We clomped up the stairs and stopped at the door. "You don't remember the brick, do you?" john said, a gleam in his eye, like this a personal victory of his._

_I snorted, "Of course I remember!" now… I added silently, "Loose brick third to the left, slight discoloring on the right hand corner."_

_"Yeah, whatever. Let's go."_

I tumbled out of the memory to watch Mycroft step inside. Suddenly apprehensive, I hesitated. Picking Molly up again, who was still stubbornly unconscious, I slowly proceeded to the door.

I felt strange, coming back here. It was like I didn't belong- not anymore. I didn't belong anywhere.

Shaking off the emotion like cold water, I stepped through the threshold_. No going back now_.

Mycroft was in the kitchen. I could hear his voice jangling like car keys, and Mrs. Hudson's tired whisperings. Probably I should go in there, it would make Mycroft's job of explaining much easier, but then again, it's wasn't like he planned to explain everything to her. No one could believe what _actually_ happened, and we had no way to prove it.

"It was fake…" I heard him say as I set Molly against the stairwell. Frowning, I snapped at her face. We must have given her a heck of a scare to keep her out this long.

"Molly." I whispered, "Molly, wake up now." She moaned, but otherwise didn't respond. I couldn't help but notice how innocent and happy she looked, not tired or sad like she was when her eyes opened. Yes- I had noticed she looked sad, even though she was something I kept in my peripheral vision. I had much more important things to do, but I still noticed. I made the mistake of letting a woman move into to center of my attention before, but I wasn't going to do that again- too risky.

She didn't move. Jeeze. Out cold. Sighing, I stood slowly. John should probably look at her. He might have smelling salts or whatever doctor's use to wake people up.

It's then that I heard the sound of a hand slapping my brother's face. I smirked. She was always a feisty one, just rather quiet about it. "How DARE You!"

I heard high heels clipping into the hall and realized what would happen next. Crap.

"SHERLOCK!" Mrs. Hudson shouted.

_Oh dear. _My voice caught in my throat.

Mrs. Hudson tried again, looking around the corner but not seeing me quite yet, "Sherlock Hol-!"

Then she halted. Her eyes climbed from Molly up to my face.

I froze up, managing a small cough. "Hello."

At first she didn't move at all. Her mouth took the form of a tight O, but then she sprang forward, making me jerk back. Certainly, I thought I was about to receive the same treatment as Mycroft, but instead of a smack, she snatched at my waist, pulling me into a tight hug. I was so much taller than her, it was like embracing a child.

I blinked in surprise, my arms sticking out awkwardly. Slowly I patted her on the head. Wasn't that the sort of thing people usually did? I wasn't sure.

"Mrs. Hudson…" I muttered, "Erm-"

"Oh yes! That's right, you don't do touching." She jumped away hurriedly.

I shrugged, not sure how to respond.

Hands on fragile hips, Mrs. Hudson gave me a once over. "What on Earth are you wearing, Sherlock?" she peered closer at my hair, craning her neck up. "Is- is that _blood_!"

"It's fake." I lied quickly, soothing her, "It was all fake- the whole set up. I never died." Guilt twisted my stomach uncomfortably and I pushed away the emotion. Since when did I feel guilty about _lying_? I did it all the time!

Mrs. Hudson just shook her head, "Well I'll be… If you ever try that again-" she adopted a suitably intimidating stare, opting to leave the threat unfinished.

Nodding gravely, I let a small smirk slip past my lips. I wish I could forget what had actually happened when I jumped. To believe the lie I told would be so much simpler, but the memory of falling- _dying_ was permanently branded into my mind.

Mycroft decided to enter the hallway at that moment. A smug look flew to my face when I saw the red handprint clearly printed on his cheek. He rubbed it subconsciously. I wasn't quite sure why Mrs. Hudson slapped him and not me, but I wasn't complaining. I suppose it had something to do with a lack of sympathy or some sort of emotional nonsense... Mycroft tended to do that; apparently it's offensive. Mycroft sent me a glare that could fry a pancake, but I was unpretentious. Sometimes it's like he knows what I'm thinking. He's the only one who can do that.

Suddenly I heard the sound of a door shutting and footsteps clomping slowly down the stairs.

John.

"Mrs. Hudson?" he asked, clambering downwards, "What's all the rack-"

He froze mid-step, half swung around the stair railing. John's reaction to my, um, _restoration_, was by far unique.

"John-" I started.

The man I called a friend's face turned from white to red and he rushed at me.

"JOHN!" I protested, but he didn't stop. Mrs. Hudson bustled out of the way, and John flew forward.

My head slammed against the wall and John's hands gripped the lab coat. I must not have been at my best, since usually I bested him when it came to strength. Restoration apparently takes a bit to recover from.

"What the _heck_ were you thinking, you _bloody_ _idiot_!" John shouted.

"I-"

"NO," he interrupted my interruption, "Don't speak! Don't say anything!"

I didn't speak and he continued with his verbal and physical onslaught. I glanced at Mycroft for help, but he seemed to be enjoying my situation, the prat.

"You were dead! Why would you do that? Do you have any idea what it's been like?" John shouted.

I blinked, taking in his tousled hair and bloodshot eyes. For a moment I felt exhausted. I sighed, "I'm sorry." The words slipped from my tongue awkwardly and floated in the air between us.

Even Mycroft seemed surprise. I suppose it's not often that I apologized, but John deserved it.

John stepped back, still holding my shirt. Shock swirled in blue orbs. "What?"

I gulped, "I said, I'm sorry. It was necessary for your… your." Why couldn't I just spit it out?!

Now John just looked baffled, "My what?" he glanced at Mycroft, who finally stepped in.

"There were several gun men pointed at each and every one of Sherlock's, ah, friends. You were one of them."

John frowned, "So?" he turned back to me, "What does that have to do with committing suicide, _oh excuse me_, PRETENDING to commit suicide?"

Pursing my lips, I glanced down at my feet. John had lifted me just high enough that only the tips of my feet brushed the floor. How on Earth could he even do that? "I had to jump, and everyone had to see it…"

"Otherwise you, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and Molly would die." Mycroft finished for me.

I bit my lip, and John just stared in shock. "You did that for me, for us? I mean, I know it was fake, but still…"

_If you only knew, John._ I thought. Suddenly I was uncomfortable, with him thinking me kind. It messed with my image… "Would you mind." I complained, gesturing at my feet.

John seemed startled. He set me down, searching my face. I turned away. "Jeeze, Sherlock, you weigh practically nothing. How does that even work?"

I frowned, "Ah, honestly?"

"That would be appreciated,"

"I haven't the faintest."

John frowned, "You don't look any thinner, but I could swear you don't weigh any more than a hundred pounds!"

Now Mycroft stepped up to inspect me. I pushed them away, "Would you not." I complained, pressing through them.

John noticed Molly leaning against the wall then. "What? What's wrong with her?"

"She fainted when she saw Sherlock." Mycroft explained dryly. "Hasn't woken up yet."

Hopping up the stairs, I called down, "John, follow me, and bring Molly, would you. I believe she needs smelling salts or something. Mycroft?"

"What, little brother?"

"Don't follow." I stated. Mycroft huffed, "And Mrs. Hudson?" I called from the door of my apartment. I turned the doorknob.

"Yes?" came the fragile reply.

"Get me something to eat, actually, preferably a lot of things!" I didn't notice how starving I was until that moment.

"Of course dear…" Mrs. Hudson murmured, scuttling into the kitchen.

John's feet padded up the stairs carrying Molly, and he stood behind me.

"Well then," I stated. "In we go."


	5. Disturbing Discoveries

_**AN: Sorry for the extremely long wait, I've been busy with another fanfic. But here I am now! Enjoy!**_

* * *

Chapter Four

Disturbing Discoveries

I found myself muttering out loud, and quickly shut my mouth. Now was not the time to act insane.

John kept glancing at me, a sort of awed look on his face. He whispered to himself words I just barely caught. The words were odd and disjointed, which just further irritated me.

"It's crazy…. Just crazy… He's alive, right here, alive... Gosh, I need a shower…. Maybe if I try _this_ salt she'll wake up…"

"Will you stop that?!"  
John blinked, confused, "What?"

I rolled my eyes, "Speaking all… strange."

A frown covered John's face, "I didn't say anything."  
"Yes you did," I insisted. What was the man talking about? He'd been speaking for five minutes straight! "You keep going on about how crazy this is and how you need a shower and a bunch of other crap nobody wants to hear."

John's jaw hung open, and I wasn't sure why. Sighing in exasperation, I turned away, clomping into my bedroom.

Passing by the bathroom, I glanced at the shower within and shrugged. I might as well wash out the blood in my hair.

Entering, I stood under the water and watched dirt and blood swirl down the drain. I was tempted to be repulsed, but quickly ignored the urge_. All that blood_, I thought. _All of it real. All of it mine_. Violently shaking my head, I closed my eyes and turned off the steaming water. _I can't do this. How can I be expected I live with a secret hanging over my head like this_? Groaning, I wrapped a towel around my waist. I didn't realize how totally spent I felt until right then. Yawning, I leaned against the wall. The mirror was fogged up and I didn't bother to wipe it clean.

Thinking about my next course of action, I exited the bathroom. Inside my room, I sat on the bed and stared above me. The ceiling fan swirled lazily, like it wasn't sure whether it wanted to turn or not. Chaos had taken residence in just about every corner of my room, but it didn't bother me.

This whole turn of events was ruining me. My mind was going to fry.

"Sherlock?" I heard John's voice from outside. "Are you- are you okay?"

Sighing, I jumped up and grabbed a shirt and pair of pants at random from behind a pile of… stuff. "I'm fine, John." I shouted through the door, "Go away. Watch Molly." The shirt was a purple button up, and the pants were black.

There.

John's sighed audibly and I heard his steps leading away. "Fine, I'll be… I'll be out here."

I didn't reply, my attention already moving forward. In the corner of my eye, I caught a glance of something John had always kept in his room. How it got in here was beyond me.

I thought about what John had said earlier and slowly pulled the glass scale out from between the wall and my dresser, which held just about everything except clothes. Frowning, I turned it on and stepped up.

"WHAT?" I exclaimed a moment later, retreating. I tripped over a cup that originally held tea, but now housed something strangely fuzzy, and sprawled to the floor. The scale spent a few moments calculating and then stated that I weighed just under a hundred pounds. Muttering profanities, I unceremoniously snatched at the towel around my waist, and struggled to my feet. "How is that even- _What_?"

"Sherlock?" came a distant question.

"_Go away, John_!"

I stared in bafflement at the scale, and then at my reflection in a full-length mirror mostly covered in sticky notes.

"I don't look any different…" I murmured, inspecting myself. "A bit pale, I guess, but otherwise..."

It had been while since the last time I deduced myself. It's a confusing process where my eyes see the facts, but my mind contradicts them.

_Dark bags under the eyes- a clear sign of exhaustion._

_I don't need sleep._

_Nicotine addiction._

_Over that._

_No, still battling lingering effects. _

_Pale, doesn't get out in the sun. Hermit-ish._

_WHAT? Am not!_

_Few interactions with other people. Socially inadequate. _

…

… _Sociopathic tendencies._

_Shut it._

Now I remember why I stay away from mirrors. Not only am I an annoying arse to everyone else, but also I managed to insult myself.

Shaking my head, I turned back to the scale that insisted I weighed no more than a small thirteen-year-old girl. It was physically impossible to look the way I did and weigh that much.

Frowning, I jumped on the scale, attempting to rack up a bigger number.

I got a hundred and ten for just a moment before it crashed back down.

_It must be a malfunction._

I nodded. That had to be the answer.

_Need to test it._

I glanced around the room for a solution and my eyes landed on a bowling ball from an earlier case. The number twelve was printed in white on the face of the sphere.

Picking it up with ease, I set the bowling ball on the scale.

It calculated for a moment before displaying twelve pounds.

Muttering, I grabbed the ball and thrust it across the room. My unused bed broke its fall. _It's a mistake. It has to be a mistake. _

I slammed the door and padded barefoot and now clothed into the kitchen.

John was still coxing Molly awake. "Sherlock?" he called from across the room.

"What?" I answered, snarky. Standing in front of my table of experiments, I drummed my fingers against the wood. "I _really_ need to figure something out, so if you wouldn't mind-"

John ignored my protest. "Get in here and help me sit her up."

There was a pause.

I rolled my eyes, "Fine."

Grumbling all the while, I enter the living room. Molly lay prostrate on the couch. "Why can't _you_ do it?" I muttered.

John just gestured for me to help, "Don't worry, Sherlock. She doesn't have cooties."

I scowled, helping sit her up.

"Good!" said John, hands on his hips, "Now, hand me that blue bottle."

"Why?" I reached for the blue bottle, letting go of Molly.

Molly tipped forward, head between her knees. Catching her just in time, I pulled the woman back up and held her there with a solitary finger on her forehead. "Stay." I ordered, releasing my hold.

She tipped forward.

I pushed her up again, huffing indignantly, and heard John chuckling in that quiet whisper. I rolled my eyes, "I'm glad this is entertaining you, John."

The chuckling stopped. "How do you do that? You didn't even look at me."

Good grief, why did John have to be such an _idiot_ sometimes? "I can hear you _laughing_, thank you very much."

"But I wasn't-"

Molly was still attempting to face-plant the couch, "If you wouldn't mind!" I interrupted.

My friend nodded, "I still need the blue bottle."

"Then get it!" I almost shouted.

I heard scuttling behind me as John retrieved the bottle. "There," he said, putting the smelling salt beneath Molly's nose. "This should do the trick."

Molly gasped, coughing on her surprise. Brown eyes flew open and she stared. Quickly, I handed her off to John and swiveled toward the kitchen. "Mrs. Hudson?" I called offhandedly, "Any time now!"

There was a huff from the doorway and Mrs. Hudson bustled in. I don't think that woman does anything but bustle. "Not your housekeeper." She muttered, holding a tray of food in her hands.

I snatched it away without a word and re entered the kitchen.

John glanced at Mrs. Hudson, than at me, "Ah- thanks, Mrs. Hudson." He supplied for me.

Mrs. Hudson just nodded before busling out the door.

I don't see why John bothers with pleasantries like that. It's entirely unnecessary.

Molly was looking around in confusion and shock all this time, and John finally noticed her, "You're at Bakers Street, Molly." He said soothingly, "It's alright. Everything's fine. Sherlock's back."

Molly nodded mutely. "John," she said, "Sherlock- Sherlock. He's dead. He died. I saw it-"

Crap.

_Nonononono._

_She was in on the plan. She knows it failed._

My mind raced double time. I needed to shut her up. Now.

"Molly!" I burst from the kitchen, my voice sharp.

She went rigged at my fierce tone, and then more rigged when she saw me. "Sh- Sher-"

I ignored her, turning to my friend. "Erm, John. Do you think my brother should be let out? Go lead him to the door, will you?"

Right. Even _I_ knew that was a weak excuse.

John gaped, confused. "I- _what_? He knows where the door-"

"Go, John." I ordered.

Frowning, John got up and proceeded to the door. "Whatever…" he muttered, hesitating at the door. "Sher-"

"Go!" I barked, making Molly flinch.

Guilt seeped through me and I leaned down so she could look me in the eye. John closed the door and I was alone with the girl.

"You can't say anything, do you understand?" I murmured, purposely making my voice quiet. I didn't want to scare her. She was already scared enough. "_Nothing_."

Gulping, Molly nodded several times.

I frowned inwardly. She was still terrified. This wouldn't usually bother me, but it did right now. It bothered me that she was scared, because honestly, I was scared too, of myself.

"Sherlock?" she whispered, eyes wide.

I sat down on my haunches, eyebrows raised, "What?"  
Molly shifted away from me almost un-noticeably.

I noticed.

"How- how are you alive?" she whispered. For a moment I thought she might collapse right there, "You were dead. I pronounced it." her eyes grew shiny, and I wasn't quite sure why, " I couldn't save you. I tried so hard, but- but." She stopped, her bottom lip trembling.

"Shh," I murmured, "it's okay." Is that the sort of thing one says when a girl is on the verge of tears? I don't usually do the whole 'comforting' deal.

She shook her head, pulling farther away. "No, it's not. It's not okay. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, Sherlock."

"Molly," I frowned. I didn't understand why she felt so guilty. "It is in no way your fault that you could not revitalize me after I jumped off a ten story building."

She sniffed.

Sighing, I sat back. Somewhere in the back of my mind I noticed the sun had risen, "I don't know how I'm… back, but I am."

Molly frowned. "You were in a dead person fridge." Rubbed her eyes. "How did you get out?"

A small smile played at my lips at the term. I always thought it should be called dead person fridge. "Mycroft found me."

A sudden thought occurred to me in that moment, and apparently it occurred to Molly as well, because she frowned in confusion.

_How did Mycroft know to let me out?_

"How did-" Molly started.

I held up a hand to stop her, "Yes, I am wondering that myself…" biting my lip, I stood up and paced. "I must ask him about that when I get the chance…"

I think Molly was mostly recovered from her shock by now. Standing up wobbly, she followed me into the kitchen. "So you don't know how you're… back?"

Pursing my lips, I nodded. Ugh. I hated this- this 'not knowing'. "From my point of view. I hit the concrete and opened my eyes to a dead person fridge." Scrubbing my face, I closed my eyes in frustration.

Why was everything so complicated?

I breathed in and out, concentrating on the sensation of life. I could feel the air rub against my throat as I swallowed it. _I'm alive, and that's all that matters._

If I focused on the room around me, my cluttered life with grey sunlight filtering through dusty windows, then I could just barely hold back the panic that threatened to overwhelm me. However the panic was in everything I saw, every breath I drew, and every object I felt. I wanted to panic because everything was impossible. It was impossible for me to feel, and smell, and see. I should be dead.

But I'm not.

_I'm alive. I'm alive. I'm alive._

I repeated the mantra in my head, letting it act like a lifeline. As long as I was alive, I figured I might as well do something to find out how, or more to the point, why.

Acting quickly, I drew a vial of my own blood. Molly just stood there. "What are you doing?"

I gave her a disinterested look, "Besides reviving, I apparently weigh exactly a hundred pounds. I want to know why."

Molly frowned, "Someone of your height and stature can't weigh a hundred pounds, it's not possible."

I placed a drop of my blood under a microscope. "Neither is surviving a cleanly snapped neck."

Molly shivered.

I pulled my eye to the microscope, scowling fiercely. "What the-"

"What is it?"

Shaking my head, I didn't look at her, "That's not even- how can I-"

"Sherlock?" Molly moved forward. Her eyes riveted to my face. "Sherlock, talk to me. What's wrong?"

Glancing at Molly, I contemplated telling her. But how could I explain to her something I didn't understand?

I stepped back from the microscope. "Easier to show you."

Leaning forward, I watched Molly's brow furrow in confusion. "That- that's not right…" she swiveled away from the microscope to look at me, "Are you going to tell John?"

"Ah, well-" I pulled back, my mind racing_. How on earth can my blood look like that?_ "I don't know if he would-"

"Tell me what?"

I broke off, and my eyes met John's, who stood at the entrance of the kitchen.

"Tell me what?" John repeated, confusion in his eyes.

I froze. Drat it. How could I be so careless? "I-"

John walked up. He was at least a head shorter than me, but he made himself look quite tall right then. "Don't you dare lie to me, Sherlock. Something is going on and I _refuse_ to be out of the loop."

I began to turn away, but John quickly grabbed my shoulder. "No. Tell me now. Is it about what you said on the phone? When you- when you," he gulped looking away.

My eyebrows rose in surprise. "_That's_ what you think?" How strange, the conclusions he managed to come to…

A frown stuck to my friend's face, "Of course, that's only _logical_."

Cringing, I looked over John quickly. I hated it when he shot back at me a phrase I used. "I- that's not-"

"You were lying, right?" John interrupted and then stepped back, "On the phone? Of course you were lying. You said those things because Moriarty's men might have been listening."

Sometimes John astounds me with small sparks of intelligence. It's all do to my influence of course, but it still takes me by surprise. "Yes." I stated resolutely, turning back to the microscope. Hopefully he would drop the issue now.

No luck.

He turned to Molly, gears ticking in his head, "But that's not what you two were talking about."

Molly froze up, "Ah, no, I mean, yes- yes it is."

Sighing, I sat up. "John, the only reason I'm not telling you is because you wouldn't believe me anyway."

Leave it to John to focus on the unimportant details, "Ha! But you _are_ hiding something."

"John, _please_!" I cried It came out more ferocious than I intended and John stepped back.

He gave me a glare, "Tell me what's going on!"

I threw my hands in the air and stomped away. Stubborn as ever, John trailed after me.

"I'm not giving up, Sherlock, not until you tell me."

"I can't tell you!"  
"Why not?!"

I looked over my friend sadly, taking in the sight of him. He was exhausted, bags hanging under his eyes. His hands were at his sides, fists clenched. Drat it. Why did he have to be so bloody _obstinate_? Brown eyes begged me to confide in him, I almost did then, right then in the hallway with Molly peeking cautiously around the corner. But I imagined how he'd look at me when I told him a story he couldn't possibly believe. John would think I was lying to him. Again.

Steeling myself, I faced him, "Go away, John." I said.

I swear if eyes could shoot lasers, I'd be a pile of ash at the moment. John scowled, "No." he growled.

Groaning inwardly, I felt irritation spark in me, "JOHN!"  
"I SAID NO!"

Grabbing my hair, I spun in a circle, "WHY are you such an idiot?! I can't tell you!"

"WHY NOT!"

"BECAUSE I CAN'T!"

"THAT'S NOT AN ANSWER!"

"WELL THAT'S ALL YOU'RE GETTING!"

For the second time that day, John had me against a wall, "TELL ME WHAT'S GOING ON!" he shouted into my ear.

I shoved him away. "I DON'T KNOW!"

There it was. I said it.

I felt like tearing my hair out. Fear and panic that I kept carefully in check bubbled to the surface and I couldn't stop it. I spun in a circle and slammed my fists against the wall.

Why? Why did this have to happen to me? Why couldn't I have my little ridiculous life full of crime and adventure?

"Why me?" I shouted.

And suddenly everything froze- this moment in time preserved for eternity. I blinked, feeling the world crystallize around me. It was absolutely silent, but it wasn't just a lack of sound, it was as if sound ceased to exist.

Slowly, I turned, confusion rising above my fear. John stood a few feet away, a look of hurt, anger, and concern in his eyes. Oddly enough, I could see every glimmer of light throughout the room, every crevice, every book. It was as if I was somehow focusing on everything at once. The sensation was maddening and addicting at the same time. Stumbling backwards, I tried to place my hand against the wall behind me. But the wall wasn't there. It was just paper and I fell through it.

Screaming at the top of my lungs, I watched the room around me burn like a photograph at my touch and I fell farther and farther into darkness.

Soon the room was gone and I felt nothing. I might be tempted to think it was cold in the darkness, but it wasn't like that. The cold wasn't really cold; it was a lack of anything- a void- nothingness.

But it didn't stay like that. Soon I felt fire swirling around me and I fell through a tunnel of smoke and fire and ice. Swirling in patterns I couldn't understand, the fire upheld me, but at the same time I knew if I got to close I'd burn. It was hypnotizing and terrifying and untamable. The sensation was too much and I shut my eyes.

Then after an eternity that was probably only a few seconds, my feet landed on cold concrete.

I stumbled. One by one, my senses turned on. The smell of moldy paper and water.

The sound. There was not sound, just a high pitch ringing that slowly faded.

Falling backwards, I felt strong hands on my rib-cage, supporting me. I still couldn't see. The light around me was too bright.

And there was a voice, unfamiliar but friendly, "Fancy that- runnin' into you of all people."

* * *

**_AN: If you like this story, try another one of my Sherlock/Doctor Who crossovers 'Shocked into Reality'_**

**_Summary: What if one morning Sherlock and the Doctor wake up and realize they're switched bodies? How will their friends deal with the change? Now they must travel across universes to find each other and set things right._**


	6. Poke It With a Stick?

**_AN: Sorry I'm a few days late. Am I the only one who gets like, a bazillion fanfic story ideas and starts a bunch of them at once? Then you're trying to write and update them all at once and it is ridiculously impossible._**

**_No? Just me?_**

**_Alright then._**

* * *

Chapter Five

Poke It With a Stick?

I blinked, attempting to make sense of my situation, but my thoughts felt jumbled and I couldn't string words together. There were still arms around me, hands dancing over my coat. On reflex I shoved the hands away and realized I was standing up. Stumbling, I scraped my hands on the concrete beneath my feet.

Everything felt strange, like I wasn't quite there, in two places at once. My stomach heaved and I just managed to keep Mrs. Hudson's meal within me.

"Hey, are you alright?" the male voice spoke, concern laced in between the words.

Attempting to nod, I pushed him away again and ground my hands into the floor. Or was that a wall? My sense of direction was so out of whack, I didn't have the slightest clue.

As it was, I lay gasping like a fish, hoping that I didn't know the person currently placing me in a sitting position.

Suddenly, like popping elastic, the world zoomed into focus. I exhaled heavily.

_I was drugged somehow._

_Or this is a dream._

_Or I've been kidnapped. _

_Drugged. Has to be it. _

I gasped, forcing my eyes open. The light seared my retinas, but as I looked, it slowly faded. Soon I could hear normally and distinguish the blurry form of a man. My mind scrambled for an explanation and I tried to jump to my feet. However, a pounding headache set behind my eyes and I fell against the wall once more. Jeez. My eyes felt like they were on _fire_! Blinking away the pain, I focused on my surroundings and the pain faded. Some sort of... _bookshop_? I was currently leaning against a plaster wall. Hideous wallpaper covered the walls around the room, and in turn was written over with graffiti. Bookshelves tilted drunkenly,, and books were strewn across the cracked concrete, their pages flipping lazily. _What_?

How did I get here?

"You mister, have a heck of a lot of explaining to do," Stated the voice, masculine and young. "Co-ordinance into a parallel universe, _Oo _you're clever. Even _I'm _not sure how you managed that." There was a resigned sigh, "I'm stuck in this world until the TARDIS decides to cooperate- she doesn't like traveling parallel- but I suppose I can hang around for a bit…"

At that moment all of my attention focused on the man in front of me. He had an electric charge about him, like he'd just guzzled six cups of coffee. Immediately I knew he was the sort of person people looked up to.. Of course, the man was unaware of this charge, which just added to his gravity. He couldn't have been older than myself, but he wore the attire of someone in their sixties. My mind began deductions immediately.

_Bow-tie and suspenders, odd choice._

_Not too tall, but carries himself with confidence. Brave._

_Brow furrowed slightly- confusion, awe, possibly both._

_Recognizes me. How?_

_Never met him._

_Something odd about his shoes..._

I blinked and ended the stream of information. There was a sense of _wrongness _about him along with that magnetism, but I couldn't quite place it. Somehow I knew he didn't belong. Not here, not anywhere. He was the personification of displacement. But _why_? "Your shoes," I murmured.

The man coughed, "What?" He trying to touch me again, but I pushed him away. He reached into his pocket and then sighed sardonically, "This is brilliant. Now my screwdriver is with that balding idiot of a human." he looked at me like it was my fault. "Why did I listen to you anyways?" he thought for a moment, "Oh yes! displacement of time and all that jazz." He rolled his eyes dismissively and glanced back at me.

"The soles of your shoes are worn," I muttered, ignoring his grumblings.

The man blinked, "Um, yeah… What does-"

"You must travel- constantly in motion. However, your clothes are totally clean, even though you've not changed out of them for quite a while." I frowned, more certain of the man's wrongness as I spoke.

The man bit his lip, and ran his hand through his hair,, "Look, I did what you told me to do, now I expect you to give me some answers."

I was silent, which the man apparently took as compliance.

"Good. Are you hurt?"

I ignored the question, asking one of my own. Now that I'd mostly recovered, confusion and panic boiled just beneath my skin. "How did I get here?"

Quickly, I struggled to my feet. The room tilted slightly, but I didn't fall.

The man gave me a look, "Tell me you're joking."

"I don't... joke."

Biting his lip again, the man ran a hand through floppy hair, "I was sort of counting on your knowledge of teleportation without a Vortex Manipulator or anything."

I blinked. What the heck was he talking about? Who was this man? If I was kidnapped, then he clearly wasn't the kidnapper. I could see that much. Was he taken also?

Then I remembered the events leading up to this moment and gulped. I remembered falling, waking up in a morgue, my impossible weight and the appearance of my blood. Unless this was all an insane dream or a crappy afterlife, which in my experiences was slightly probably, then this wasn't much stranger than the rest of my day.

"What are you _talking _about?" I coughed. My mouth felt like was full of sand. Taking a deep breath, I attempted to calm myself. "Look, you seem to know who I am, but I'm afraid I am at a disadvantage. Who are you?"

The man chuckled without humor, "Oh that's just beautiful." Shaking his head, he turned toward a large blue box that sat in the corner of the room. I wondered how I missed such a large item. "I try to find him again and you take me to a younger version that has no idea who I am or what a bloody teleport is!"

Suddenly the man froze. He was silent for a moment and the quickly swiveled around. "On second thought," the man murmured with a stumped look, "If you don't know what a teleport is, then how on Gallifrey are you doing it?" He paused, seeming to think, "Perhaps it's an unconscious thing- or something you've never experienced before…" He smiled.

I blinked, still not comprehending. I'm usually rather brilliant at getting a hand on a situation, but right now I was totally lost. Cut me some slack. I _did _just come back to life and then… _teleport_? As if...

This was getting a bit ridiculous.

"Maybe this isn't such a bad thing." the man murmured, "Maybe this is how it's suppose to be. The first time I met you, you knew me. Now I know you , but you've never met me. Falling stars, that's a mouthful…" He walked, or rather _bounded _toward me and extended a pale hand. "Hello, I'm the Doctor."

I frowned. "That's rubbish," I stated.

The Doctor nodded thoughtfully, rubbing a square chin, "It is a bit, isn't it? But that's alright. I'm a bit rubbish too." The Doctor replied, "Now. Enough about me. Who are you?"

I opened my mouth and then closed it again. "I thought you already knew me," I answered sarcastically. The man was either insane, or had mistaken me for someone else. I was leaning toward the insane side.

"Ah, yes." the Doctor tried to explain, scratching his chin, "I mean, I talked to you, but you weren't exactly forthcoming." He laughed nervously. "You were… or _will be_ in a bit of a hurry."

Suddenly I was aware of my exhaustion. Was he saying what I thought he was saying? I gave a short laugh, "I'm Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes." I felt close to recovered now. "Now tell me what is going on here, because I haven't the faintest." I hated admitting I was lost, and this was at _least _the third time today.

Snorting the Doctor backed up a step. Was that disbelief in his eyes? Why? "Right, very funny. You might as well know I'm really Oliver Twist."

I blinked, "What."

Rolling his eyes, the Doctor gave me a condescending look, "Sherlock Holmes is-" He suddenly froze, a bulb seeming to light in his mind, "Wait. Parallel universe, _ha_!" He smacked his forehead and giggled like a child, "Oh that's amazing! I swear, the universe never ceases to amaze me!" Startlingly fast, the Doctor shot forward and began pumping my hand like his life depended on it.

_An enthusiastic fellow, this one…_

He grinned, "Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective to ever live! Oh, it is an _honor_!"he gave me a once over, "I suppose you _do _meet Arthur's description, lacking the hat and pipe thingy."

I cringed. Why did they always think I wore the hat? It's ridiculous, the things people come up with...

"You're not as tall as I thought," the Doctor continued, "But then again, most things are exaggerated…" His grin grew even large., "Look at me, meeting Sherlock Holmes."

I coughed in embarrassment, but quickly suppressed the emotion. Snatching my hand back, I placed it in my pocket. "Ah, alright." I wasn't sure what else to say. "I see you've heard of me."

"_Heard of you_? The whole _universe _has read your adventures!"

Blinking, I stepped away from him.

_Clearly some sort of fan… John's blog?_

_The entire universe, ha! Get real._

"Riiight…" I stalled as my mind raced in the background, "Look, maybe London, but no one reads John's blog outside of that..."

He wasn't talking about John's blog, and I knew it.

"And that's another interesting bit!" the Doctor interrupted to my annoyance, "This is the twenty-first century, _not _the nineteenth!"

"The 'fictional' me is from the nineteenth." I raised the last word to make it a question, but I was fairly certain of my assumption.

"Ah, yes. This might come as a shock but-" He stopped, realizing what I just said. "How did you even-"

"You mentioned being Oliver Twist after I said my name, implying that you think I'm fictional. You also said everyone has _read _my adventures, and if I'm suppose to be from the nineteenth century, then you aren't talking about John's blog.." I shook my head. "I can tell you, I _actually _haven't had that response to my name before…" Glancing over him, I continued, "You weren't _that _surprised to see that you were wrong about reality, which also implies that your definition of impossible is rather bendable…"

The Doctor blinked, and I could hear John's voice in the back of my mind.

_Show off…_

Oh shut up.

I could tell the Doctor was attempting to come up with a good comeback, but after a moment of staring at my raised eyebrows, he gave up. That wasn't even a difficult deduction.

Huffing, the Doctor turned from me, "Right. I'll get back to you once you've seen my mode of transportation." He leaned ever so slightly toward the blue box as he said this, which made me frown. A blue box was his mode of transportation?

There was a pause as we both took each other in. Finally the Doctor spoke, "This in _no way_ explains how you could appear in my _moving _TARDIS at will." he paused, "Or teleport/time warp right in front of me."

I looked him over, "I didn't teleport…" I said slowly.

"I'm pretty sure you did." the Doctor countered, taking out a bouncey ball from his pocket and bouncing it on the ground.

Snorting, I caught his ball mid-air. "Dear 'Doctor', teleportation is impossible."

And there was John's voice again. _It's also impossible to come back to life, weight one hundred pounds at your height and built, and have thousands of golden flecks ingrained in every one of your blood cells. _

_You're just a bit ridiculous lately._

Drat it. Why did I have to be so reasonable?

The Doctor watched me as I had my silent conversation. "This is going to be a bit harder than I originally thought, "he murmured, twisting his hands. "I thought you would know what you are…" He paused. "If I had my screwdriver, then I could confirm it, but you _are _human, right?"

"That's not exactly an option," I answered.

"Ah- well, you see, it sort of is."

I blinked. "It's really not. I'm _pretty _sure about that point."

But I wasn't- not any more. Not after today. I do believe this day was shredding every form of logic I managed to form. My entire life had been devoted to narrowing my vision so I saw only what was important. Actually, I couldn't remember the last time I looked at the stars… Honestly, I could care less about whether the Sun went around the Earth or the Earth went around the Sun. _What does it matter?_

I dealt with seeing what I couldn't believe at Baskerville, but this wasn't some drug induced demon-wolf-thing I was looking at. This was my identity, my mortality. I refused to believe it. None of it was real. That was the only explanation.

_Maybe... Maybe the fall didn't kill me and I'm in a coma at some hospital. _

_Really? That's what I'm resorting to?_

The Doctor opened his mouth to speak, but a sudden crash from outside the boarded up bookshop stopped his words. Glancing at each other, we both edged toward the window. "What was that?" I murmured to myself

"Trouble probably," the Doctor said with a grin, "Whaddaya say?" His blueish-green eyes locked with mine. "Poke it with a stick?"

I didn't smile, not now. However, I couldn't argue, that statement about summed up my entire career.

* * *

AN: Sherlock finally meets the Doctor! Tell me what you think. What do you like or dislike about this story? What do you think is up with Sherlock? To be honest, I will be truly shocked if someone guesses correctly. I'm welcome to constructive criticism! Follow, favorite and LEAVE A REVIEW! ..._please_?


	7. Frozen Heart

Chapter Six

Frozen Heart

The cloaked figure sat in a dark corner of the abandoned warehouse. From across the room his labored breathing could be heard.

Amid the figure's breathing, there was a small ticking noise that inspired fear in this supposedly fearless being. He didn't have much time left.

Why?

Because when time is numbered, there is always only a little left.

This planet was his last chance. There wasn't time or supplies to travel to another.

"Master!" A voice called. It was deep and gravelly, like stones rubbing against each other. To the everyday human, the voice spoke in a language unknown to planet Earth.

The hooded figure slowly straightened, preparing for the worst. "Yes? Get on with it." The figure's voice was clearer than servant before him and clearly held authority.

The creature currently hopping from one foot to the other was unseen except for his shadow on the concrete, but that shadow was frightening enough to freeze the heart of a child. "Master, rejoice! The inhabitants of this planet are compatible!"

The hooded figure oozed relief. Maybe they still had a chance."Thank Zooroug. I was beginning to think-" he stopped. "Good work, Aranicuz. You and your many brothers have served me well. The operation will begin _immediately_."

The shadow nodded several times. "Yes, of course, Master. We dare not waste your time." Then with that the shadow slipped away, off to do mischief. Numerous shadows from the dark corners of the warehouse followed after Aranicuz, rejoicing all the while.

And the hooded figure was left alone in his chair once more, cloaked in his heavy breathing, the strains of a nearby machine, and the quiet ticking from nowhere and everywhere at once. "Indeed." He murmured quietly, "Time is truly of the essence."

* * *

My feet thudded across the asphalt and I could feel every drop of moisture in the fog that enveloped the street. The man called the Doctor rushed a few feet ahead of me, his breathing calm and even. I'd like to say my breathing was the same, I do tend to run a lot, but after a few minutes of galloping straight into the whiteness, I was forced to stop.

The air stung as it filled my lungs, but I couldn't get enough of it. There was no way I was going to tell the Doctor to slow down, my pride prevented me, so instead I stopped in my tracks and let myself recover. I noted that it was an oddly cold day for June.

Despite my exhaustion, the exercise felt good. It kept me from thinking about all the impossible things that had become a part of my life. Even the fact that I was here, not in my flat at Bakers street, was impossible, not to mention everything else...

Not much blows my mind these days, but this would do me...

Finished catching my breath, I looked up, hoping to see the Doctor, but he had disappeared, swallowed whole by the fog.

_That man must have a massive amount of endurance to run so fast for so long…_

I considered calling out for him, but the moment I opened my mouth, my voice stuck in my throat.

_No sound. Don't move,_ an instinct told me. After years of chasing crime, I was familiar with the feeling of anticipation. Something was going to happen.

Any second now.

My entire body froze and I waited, still as a statue. Quickly, my eyes scanned the area around me. I was on an average street with shops lining a two lane road. The fog was so thick I couldn't see the top of some of the buildings. Once again I was struck by how unusual the weather was. Fog wasn't unusual, in the contrary, it was London's constant companion, but this biting _cold _in _June_? That was unusual.

The entire street was devoid of another soul. There was just me and the fog. Continuing to scan the area, I discovered a bus stop across the street- vacant, and shop across the road- empty. There was a newspaper stand to my left. No one watched to sell the newspapers. Where _was_ everybody?

Idly, I noted the date on the newspaper.

June 10th.

Two days ago.

_What_?

My mind reeled, and I stopped watching my surroundings. Snatching up the newspaper, I quickly made sure all of the dates were the same. A typo?

That was ridiculous. Large newspaper companies like this had numerous people inspecting the newspaper for typos. Maybe one worker might mess up the date, but ten? Ten or more people wouldn't miss such an obvious mistake.

_Eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the truth._

But it was bloody _impossible_.

Sometimes I really hated my own logic.

"Then there must be another factor I'm missing," I stated out loud. "Something- _something_!"

But there was nothing.

Suddenly there was a wisp of movement behind me. I went back into a defensive state immediately, spinning around quickly. I expected to see someone behind me, but instead I was faced with an alleyway and a particularly dark portion of fog.

_That's odd_, I thought, stepping forward. The fog pulled at me, wisps wrapping around my wrists and tugging me toward the alleyway, but I didn't notice because of the ominous buzzing in my head that blocked out everything else. I took another step, and another. There was something in the alley I _had _to see. I _needed _to go inside.

Another step and I'd be enveloped in the dark shadows ,but at the last second I came to my senses. Fear encased me and suddenly I realized I couldn't stop myself from moving forward. Whatever was in the fog was going to kill me; I knew it instinctively. No one was going to make me do what I didn't want to.

In that instant a wave of heat rushed up behind my eyes and with great effort, my foot stopped mid-air.

Nothing controls me. _Nothing_.

Shouting, I jumped backwards. Something hissed from within the fog and I could clearly feel surprise and pain coming from the… thing.

I'd hurt it somehow…

Then in an instant the fog melted away. Within seconds the entire street was back to normal. Laying on the ground panting, I watched as people exited stores, walked across the road, and cars passed by. It was like they had always been there.

But they hadn't. I knew it.

There were footsteps behind me and I felt a hand on my shoulder. The Doctor. "Sherlock? What are you doing on the floor?" he asked, "And why are you all wet?"

I ignored his question and stood up quickly. Brushing myself off, I noted that my coat was covered in frost. Blinking, the Doctor and I watched it melt away. "Something strange is going on," I murmured.

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "Of course, there always is."

I frowned at him. Someone else might have let a comment like that pass, but not me. I'm to curious for my own good, I'm afraid. "What do you mean by that?"

Shrugging, the Doctor answered flippantly, "Oh, I have a _small _habit of running into trouble. It's actually not entirely my fault- well, maybe a bit, but honestly, what can I do? The TARDIS literally throws me into a situation, and it's not like I can just ignore it." The Doctor stopped, realizing he was rambling on.

Looking into his eyes, I read him like the newspapers behind me. When the Doctor said 'small habit', what he really meant was a massive uncontrollable thing he wished he could curb, but wouldn't because he secretly enjoyed the adventure of it all.

I've never met someone with such expressive eyes. One could see straight into his soul if you knew how to look. I broke our gaze because I suspected this Doctor knew how to look into mine.

Recovered from my disturbing experience, I turned to the Doctor.

He placed his hands on my shoulders. "Tell me what happened." He reminded me of a child begging his parent to tell him what he was getting for his birthday.

Shrugging him off, I looked at the ground. I didn't particularly want to share my experience, not wanting to seem insane. If the man had been John, I would have pretended nothing happened at all. But the Doctor wasn't John. He looked at me with this intense, old, and yet playful eyes. I knew he'd recognize a lie the moment I spoke it.

So I changed the subject.

"Where the heck did you go anyway?"

The Doctor looked offended. "It's not _my _fault you're so slow!"

"I'm not _slow_!" I scoffed.

The Doctor seemed to think about this for a moment, "I suppose…" he murmured, "For a human you're reasonably fast…" he paused. "Incredibly, actually."

_The way he said that sentence; it implies he doesn't consider himself human. _

_If he doesn't think he's human, then that explains why earlier he'd think to ask me if _I _was human_.

"You're saying you're _not_ human?" I questioned slowly.

Nodding rapidly, the Doctor rocked on his heels, "Yup, from the future- I think, or maybe the past… Time is a bit confusing with me."

I blinked. There was no way I was going to believe him- not until he showed me proof.

But now was not the time.

"So!" the Doctor cried a bit loudly, "Whatever you're not telling me happened in this alley, right?" Stepping around me, he walked into the alleyway that had almost devoured me. Immediately, the Doctor reached into his pocket. He came up empty and muttered something about a replacement screwdriver. "Still don't know why I listened to you…" he stated, throwing the words over his shoulder, where I stood.

I didn't want to go into the alley where the _creature _had resided.

"Well?" the Doctor asked, "Are you coming or not?"

I hesitated for half a second and then stepped forward with a small sigh . There was no way I would appear to be a coward in front of this man. Besides, the creature was gone now. The alley was shadowed, and thin enough that if I stretched my hands out, I could touch both walls. Liter covered the floor and rainwater puddled around it.

We'd walked for several seconds in silence until the Doctor suddenly jerked back. Stopping just in time to keep from bumping into him, I peered over the Doctor's shoulder.

_His shoulders are tense. _

_Something's startled him_.

"What is it?" I asked.

The Doctor shook his head slowly. "How strange," he murmured.

"_What_?" I pushed forward, curiosity getting the better of me.

The moment I saw it, my breath caught in my throat and I could do nothing but stare.

In front of the Doctor, a young woman cowered against the brick wall that lined the alley, her fingers clawing at it desperately. Her mouth was open in a terrified scream and tears dripped down her face.

The most amazing part? The woman was made entirely of sparkling ice.

**_AN: And the plot thickens! Please review and check out my profile for some of my other stories._**


	8. Acceptance

Chapter Seven

Acceptance

"The workmanship is astonishing!" I murmured, inspecting her closely. It was odd, to see a fully clothed statue. Every single detail on her body was created to absolute perfection. Sitting down on my haunches, I reached into my coat pocket and withdrew a collapsable magnifying glass. I still remember the Christmas my mother gave it to me.

"_You know how much I hate you getting yourself into trouble, Sherlock-"_

"_But?" I interrupted._

_My mother sighed in exasperation. "For once, let me finish my own sentence. I'm quite capable."_

"_Are you though?" I yawned and put my feet up on the table. "Can I have the magnifying glass now?"_

_Mother blinked. She was beyond used to my deductions, but everyone in a while, I managed to surprise her. She'd been _so _careful with this present and was certain I didn't know about it._

_Sucks. I always know._

_Every year Christmas was a disaster at my house. Apparently you're suppose to not know what you're getting, an odd concept, in my opinion. Eventually it became a game, everyone trying desperately to hide their presents from me and me ultimately figuring it out._

_My mother sighed, but a small smile twitched the corner of her lip. "As I was saying, Sherlock, I can see that you'll never give up your obsession with solving crime, so I got you this to help you." She handed over the magnifying glass._

_Translation: Better he solves crimes instead of creating them._

Shaking away the memory, I focused on the scene before me. The Doctor leaned against the brick wall behind me, a stony expression on his face. I recognized the look as sadness. But why was he sad? It was just cleverly carved ice.

Using the magnifying glass, I noted that the statue had eyelashes. "Eyelashes!" I snorted, "Someone managed to carve eyelashes on the statue- that's _amazing_!" I must say, not many works of art impress me, but despite the woman's frightening position, she was an exception.

The Doctor grunted, hunching down next to me. "How did they get the clothes on her?" He frowned.

That was a good point. The ice had melted and refrozen into the bricks and sidewalk just slightly, sealing her in that position, however, her clothes were wrinkled and pressed in exactly the right places, as if at any moment she could stand up and adjust them. How on Earth did they managed to place the clothes on her? And in such a realistic way?

"She's incredible," I breathed, still studying her.

"She's terrified," the Doctor countered, disgust in his voice. "Who would do something like this?"

I thought for a moment, "Well, someone with considerable artistic ability."

"That's not what I meant."

I blinked. What else could he mean then? "Doctor, it's a statue."

"Is it though?"

"... Yes. There is no need for an emotional response." Granted the position was a bit odd, but I honestly didn't understand why he was so upset…

The Doctor turned and gave me a look that spoke volumes. "But look at her. It's horrible. Who would make a 'statue' that looked like that?" He paused. "If it is a statue…"

I blinked. What was wrong with him? Of course it was a statue! I sighed, running over possibilities in my mind. "It could be a possessional statement…"

"A what?"

"Sometimes murderers will leave signs to show their dominance or possession. He could have captured her in her last moments and…" I glanced around the alley. "And put her in the same spot she was murdered…"

The Doctor eyed me with an expression I couldn't quite define. Distaste? Sadness?

"Of course," I continued lamely, "It could also be an abstract work of art… Which would be rather boring, but it's highly possible…" Letting my mind palace run for several seconds, I could come up with no other _logical _explanation.

"I forgot about this part of you," the Doctor spoke.

What part of me? The clinical, disinterested, or obsessive part? Yeah. That's quite a bit you missed. I sighed inwardly. It took me a moment to realize why he was upset. I just implied that I'd rather there be a murder than a work of art, which was sort of true, but he obviously didn't agree "I'm a detective, Doctor. Bad things happen. I catch criminals and solve puzzles. Don't ask my to to have sympathy over a _statue_."

The Doctor's silence was deafening.

He was drinking in my words, chewing it up and slowly swallowing them. He grimaced at their horrid taste. Great. A pacifist. Just what I needed.

The Doctor shook his head and then bend down so he was next to me. "Come on." He touched the statue lightly. "Let's bring her to the TARDIS."

_TARDIS?_

_A place large enough to fit the statue._

_Implies research- laboratory?_

_TARDIS… Anagram?_

_No. T.A.R.D.I.S. Stands for something._

_Stands for what?_

Nodding slowly, I stood up. "How exactly are you planning to move it? It's stuck to the ground."

The Doctor scratched his chin and then his eyes lit up. "I won't. I'll bring the TARDIS here!"

_Mobile laboratory? _

_What._

The Doctor reached deeply into the pocket of his tweed jacket and withdrew something.

I snorted, hands in my pockets. "Are those car keys?"

The Doctor glanced at me in surprize. "Oh interesting. That's what you see? Most people don't see past the coolness filter. Then again, you're not most people, are you?"

"Sorry, your _what_?"

The Doctor rolled his eyes and click a button on the key fob. A ringing filled the the alleyway and then faded into nothing. "The perception filter makes people see something more impressive than car keys."

_Perception filter- fiction._

"Impressive as in…"

"As in a really cool futuristic hologram or something," the Doctor blurted with a smile, "Don't tell anyone the truth. I stole someone's car keys and… improved them."

The smallest glimmer of a smirk lifted my lips. My inclination was to think that the man was insane and I should leave, but then again, anyone _remotely _interesting is mad in one way or another…

I nodded. "You're secret is safe with me."

Suddenly I felt a shift in the air around me. Everything was charged with static and heat. I stumbled back a step. "What's happening?" The world faded and then came back.

Crap.

It was happening again.  
The grin on the Doctor's face grew. "That's my girl!" he cried. He turned to me and saw my distress. "It's fine, Sherlock. She'll be here any second."

I shook my head rapidly. Whatever he was calling had nothing to do with what I was feeling at the moment. "I- I can't-"

The Doctor's eyes went wide and he stepped toward me. "Tell me what's wrong," he ordered. He reached forward to touch me, but to my absolute terror, his hand slipped through my own like I was made of nothing but smoke. A scream lodged itself in my throat, but I pushed it down. I needed to be calm. Panic wouldn't help.

I opened my mouth, but my voice didn't work the way I wanted it to. It hurt, but I needed him to hear me so I pressed forward. "Bakers Street." I choked, "June thirteenth. 10 AM…Hopefully."

Understanding covered the Doctor's face and he nodded firmly. "Good man, Sherlock."

My eyes locked with his and for a moment I thought I'd be able to ground myself…But then everything dimmed and my stomach jerked. I bent down over my stomach and fell into a railing of somesort. A railing? When did that get here?

But I didn't have time to worry about that. My mind was in chaos. Questions whizzed around at the speed of light and and pain spilled over my logical functions and fried them. Why was this happening to me? I didn't want it, whatever this was. I didn't want to believe any of this was happening, It was impossible and if there's anything I hate, it's the unexplainable. However, choosing not to believe in something doesn't stop it from existing. I can believe the Earth doesn't goes around the Sun all I want, but that won't change the reality. I know this and it twisted me in indignation.

I also knew if I wanted to survive whatever was happening, I needed the help of this strange man.

_What I thought: _

_Time travel-impossible. _

_Teleportation- impossible._

_Restoration from the dead- extremely impossible._

_What I now know:_

_Time travel- possible… somehow._

_Teleportation- Also somehow possible._

_Restoration after death-I don't really need any more proof, do I? Possible._

My eyes continued to hold the Doctor's gaze as a look of sympathy claimed the alien. As everything froze and a room continued to miraculously materialized around us, I spit out one last sentence before I fell backwards into nothing.

"Find Me."


	9. The Tunnel

**_AN: So I know It's been a while. This chapter is big, so I hope that sort of makes up for my lateness _**

Chapter Eight

The Tunnel

The experience was similar to the last time I traveled, but at the same time totally unique. I got the feeling that this strange tunnel of fire and light and ice never stayed the same for long.

My panic was mostly contained and as I fell, I found myself able to look at each spiral as they spun pass. They were a strange mixture of blue ice that curled and wound around roots of fire that at the same time spiraled into a complexity of strings and roots and channels I'd never fully understand. It pulled my along, grabbing my wrists. It was gentle, but I was frightened all the same because I knew at any instant I could be torn away and erased.

I didn't know how I knew that, I just did. I knew it the same way that I knew I wasn't on Earth, but I wasn't in space either. I was nowhere. I was racing through the cracks, the seams of reality. This realization was absolutely terrifying, and yet, the tunnel was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. And that's coming from someone who supposedly doesn't see beauty.

That's not true, by the way. I see beauty. I see the wonder in the eyes of a child and the budding of a flower.

I just ignore it.

It's not important enough to hold my attention because yes, it might be beautiful, but most of the time it's also spectacularly useless.

I smiled to myself at the thought and decided that while I had time, I might at least try to figure out where I was going…

It took several minutes, or hours, or days, or no time at all. I don't really know, but after digging through the spirals, and carefully aligning the strings of light, I found that I could determine a destination. The spirals weren't just a beautiful perk of traveling through this tunnel, they were a code, a language. Each little bit of blue and yellow and red was a message, each determining my destination. What was even better was I could understand it. It wasn't a visual part of my mind that saw the code. It didn't need to be translated. It was something I'd known my whole life. In that moment I realized that English wasn't my first language. This was. How could I have forgotten it? This language of light and sound and beauty and danger? I knew it better than anything, even if I didn't know why or how.

See? Beautiful _and _useful. My sort of thing.

_Amazing._ I spoke out loud, but my voice didn't react the way it usually did. I was speaking in my mind, but the spirals reacted to my voice in a way I'd never imagined. They spun around me and I could feel pride shining in the colors.

_It's sentient_! I cried.

The spirals reacted in confirmation.

Slowly a grin filled my face and I laughed. This was what I'd been missing. All my life I was searching and I didn't even know it!

With extreme care, I rearranged the strings and spirals until it said what I wanted it to. I wanted to get there before the Doctor, so maybe 9:30? June thirteenth?

Yeah. That worked.

I could see the end of the tunnel now, and I knew my journey had ended. I waved goodbye to the light and in an instant all of the color was gone and there was nothing but blackness.

I stumbled into John's chair and fell forward over the top. Landing on my butt, I groaned. My stomach decided it had had enough of this and I quickly ran to the sink to empty it.

Well then. That was just slightly humiliating. Standing up slowly, I wobbled back and forth but managed to keep my feet. I wiped my mouth and inspected my hands. They looked normal enough but who knew...

"What the bloody-"

There was a crash of broken glass and suddenly John was next to me. He had been across the room when I appeared. He reached forward but I stepped back hastily. "Don't touch me yet!" I cried, jumping behind the couch. Despite the ordeal, I was full of energy, only _slightly _out of whack. "I'm still not here…" I scratched my neck, realizing that sounded ridiculous. "Or… something."

John just stood there. His mouth hung open. "How did- Did you just- _what_?"

"Yeah." I bit my lip. There was no hiding this from him anymore. "Look, John." I hopped back over the couch and came toward him.

This time it was John who jumped back. "What is this, Sherlock?" He cried. "You disappeared- _literally_!" He turned away a distressed hand in his sandy hair. "And now you just appeared… I can't even...you died and now...what _are _you?"

I blinked. "That seems to be the question of the hour," I mumbled. What to do now…

I collapsed onto the couch and considered pretending to be all knowing, but then it seemed like too much effort. Instead I glanced at the clock on the wall. 9:46.

"Not bad…" I murmured, "We've got fourteen minutes before he gets here... hopefully."

John frowned, "Who gets here?"

"A friend of mine."

John snorted, slowly sitting down in his chair. "Really? I thought you didn't have friends."

"Well, more of an acquaintance."

He nodded slowly, and then stared at the floor. "Please tell me what's going on." He sighed. "Last night… I don't know what…" he trailed off and I let him. "You've been gone for hours."

"I know." How strange. It had been less than thirty minutes for me, but going by the bags under his eyes, John had been waiting for me all night. I tapped my knee absently. "Tell me what you saw when I disappeared."

Shrugging, John searched his memory. "We were arguing and then you just sort of… crumpled."

I frowned. "What?"

John scratched his neck. "It was like everything was folding up around you, like you were made of paper. There was this flash and when I opened my eyes you were gone."

_So that's what it looked like from the outside… Interesting…_

I nodded slowly. "Right. Okay. There's no easy way to say this, John."

"Say what?"

Here it goes. "When I… _fell_, something went wrong. And everything is different now. I don't know why or how, but it is."

John frowned, "You said you faked your death. It was all just-"

"That was the plan," I interrupted, "But I… messed up." I popped the P, the words barely leaving my lips. My pride was chewing my stomach into bits.

John's eyes widened. "But you? Messing up? You don't do that. And besides, you're alive, so it must have have worked."

I sighed. "I appreciate the confidence, John, but that's the whole thing." I paused, keeping my memories locked away. "I died. I slipped up and fell and I knew it was over…" My voice was barely a whisper. "but then… it wasn't." A humourless laugh escaped my lips.

John blinked. "What?"

As quick as I could, I ran through the events of last night with him. The morgue, Mycroft, Molly, Bakers Street, my weight, blood, the strange man called the Doctor, the ice statue, the words tumbled from my mouth like water. It felt so good to tell him. I hadn't realized how much I enjoyed having John as a confident.

After I was done, I fidgeted in my seat and had another revelation. I really wanted him to believe me. I didn't want him to look at me like I was crazy, because if John thought I was insane, then I must be.

So I waited and John just sat there. He sat and sat and was totally infuriating. He leaned back, bit on his fingernail and frowned. "So basically, you died, came back to life, and now a bunch of weird crap is happening."

"That sums it up rather nicely," I replied.

John snorted and ran his hands across his tired face. "If I had not just seen you literally _teleport _into this room, I would never believe you."

Very slowly, relief trickled into my mind. "You- you don't think I'm crazy?" I honestly was preparing myself for the biggest laugh off of the century. And here he was prepared to trust me.

"Maybe just a little bit," John replied with an amused smirk, "But I wouldn't blame you. You've always been a bit mad." John chuckled. "Honestly, what you're telling me is too ridiculous for you to make up." he leaned forward. "And it's hard to deny it when you teleported before my eyes."

I fell back into the armchair, disguising my relief. "Good. Excellent. Now..." I stood up quickly, crossed the room and stood under the clock.

He believed me. He actually trusted me! My fingers rested naturally underneath my chin. _What a fascinating man..._

"He should be here-" I glanced at the clock. "Now." I pointed as the hour hand struck 10 o'clock.

"Who?"

"That friend I mentioned."

There was silence for half a moment, and then the breath of a machine filled my ears. Was that the Doctor? _Must be._ Smirking triumphantly, I waved John to a window that looked out onto the street. Quickly peeking through the curtains, I suddenly froze.

On the sidewalk in front of our flat, a blue box slowly materialized. It became clearer and clearer with every strained breath of the machine. There was something about it that I couldn't place. It reminded me of something important, but for the life of me, I couldn't remember what.

"What's that noise?" John asked, pushing past me.

I coughed, sliding slightly so he could see. Suddenly the memory of the police box in the abandoned bookshop filled my vision.

"It's the same box," I murmured.

John frowned. "What?"

I didn't answer because I was already dashing down the stairs. Slamming the front door, I let the wind tug my coat, a weak attempt at thievery. My feet touched the concrete lightly as I breathed in the air. It wasn't quite cold, but I shivered anyway. The box buzzed and murmured words I couldn't quite understand but drew me in all the same.

Without remembering the steps that got me there, I found myself directly in front of the police box.

Absently, I heard John come after me. I could hear him breathing as he took possession of the sidewalk to my left. "What is it?" He murmured.

It took a moment to realize he was speaking to me. My eyes never left the box as I responded. "Watson? I have absolutely no idea."

Slowly, I reached forward. My hand hovered half a centimeter from the blue surface and the prickling sensation that resulted reminded me of what it's like to hover my hand right above a TV screen.

Suddenly the box opened inwards and I jerked back. Surprise colored my actions and John had to catch me to keep me from falling backwards.

Brushing John off, I stood up straight again. Immediately, a head poked out of the box's the now open door.

The Doctor took one look at me and grinned manically. "You _beat _me! How on Gallifrey did you manage that?"

_Gallifrey_. I filed away the word for later.

Shrugging, I stepped back so that the Doctor could exit his strange...box. "I arrived a bit early so that I could ah, explain things to John."

The Doctor's gaze dropped from me to John. His eye widened and he stepped forward. "John," he murmured, addressing me, "as in John Watson?"

"Yes," I answered.

The Doctor grinned and immediately began pumping John's hand in a manner similar to the way he shook mine earlier. "Pleasure to meet you, John!"

John coughed, surprised by the man's enthusiasm. "Ah, sorry. Excuse my bluntness, but who are you and how do you know me?"

"He says he's an alien from a parallel universe where we are just works of fiction," I spoke calmly. "Famous works of fiction, it seems."

John's eyebrows rose. He blinked. "And you believe him?"

"Course not."

The Doctor shot me a mockingly hurt look. "Oh Sherlock, you wound me!" He shook his head disapprovingly. "After all you've seen and experienced, and you still don't believe me?

"You have no proof," I answered. Wasn't it obvious? I knew for a fact that something extremely odd was happening to me, but that not prove such things as alternative dimensions, or alien life.

The Doctor looked over me for a moment and then nodded. "Alright. Fair enough. I suppose I should expect that from you. All for evidence, facts, those sort of shenanigans, you are, right?"

I nodded slowly.

The Doctor beamed. "Then I have just the thing."

Me and John exchanged a glance when the Doctor darted into his box once more. "We can't all fit in there," John stated, his brow furrowed.

"I agree," I murmured.

"But he wants us to follow him?"

"It seems so."

"That's ridiculous."

I sighed. That phrase seemed to be coming up more and more of late.

"Well come on then!" echoed a distant voice.

I frowned and leaned in to poke my head through the door. That was impossible. It almost sounded like the Doctor was in a large room...

My thoughts froze when I saw the inside of the box. What on Earth?

Breathing in sharply, I stumbled backward.

"But- but that's impossible!" I cried.

John gave me a strange look but I ignored him. Quickly, I circled the phone box. It had to be some sort of trick or- or _something_!

But it wasn't. The box was totally solid. "It shouldn't be able to do that!" I shouted.

"That's sort of the idea!" the Doctor shouted from inside the box.

John followed me in my circle around the box. "Are you alright, Sherlock?"

I spared him a glance. "Yes. I'm fine." No. I'm not.

_Nothing makes sense anymore and it is _killing _me._

John didn't believe me, but he nodded slowly. Both of us circled around to the front of the box, and with dread, I entered it once more. This time John followed me. I heard him gasp, but I kept my eyes tightly shut.

If I kept them closed, them I could pretend the scene before me was logical.

But that was childish, I realized.

My entire life was no longer logical, why not add this to the list?

I forced my eyes open and was blasted with the sight before me.

The Doctor sat on glass stairs leading up to some sort of chaotic control center. He grinned proudly, clearly enjoying this.

I was not so amused and John wouldn't be either, I was sure.

But then the infuriating man pushed past me so he could get a better look. He spun in a slow circle and after a minute his eyes landed on the Doctor. "So..." He coughed. "You're an alien with a ship that's bigger on the inside. How is that-?"

"Different dimension." The Doctor explained and John nodded.

"Huh. Cool."

I stared at him in shock. How could he act so calmly while the fabric of logic and possibility was ripped apart? Did he not know that this was ridiculous?

The Doctor stood up and walked slowly toward me. "Are you alright?" he asked.

I blinked, and realized my knuckles were bone white from my tight grip on the door. I released it and took a step forward. "Yes. Fine."

"He always says that," John offered to the Doctor.

I glared at him and was about the spill out a nasty retort when I felt something.

There was something about this ship that I couldn't quite place. It buzzed with warmth and personality. Personality. How was that possible?

Ugh. I needed to stop asking that question. I swear, it was shredding my sanity. A ship with a personality… odd, but apparently possible.

I was too shocked to say anything, so I stepped deeper into the ship and sat down in a chair that was conveniently behind me. The Doctor approached, concern on his face. "You're not alright." It wasn't a question.

John was busy poking at different gadgets and looking about, so I turned my attention to the Doctor.

Instead of answering him, I changed the subject. "Your…ship,"

"She's called the TARDIS. What about her?"

TARDIS. So this was what he had been talking about. I paused and sighed. "Nevermind. It's ridiculous."

The Doctor chuckled, straddling another chair.. "You came to the right place then. Ridiculousness is my line of business."

I sighed. It took a moment, but I made my decision. Constantly doubting my eyes was not getting me anywhere. It was a chain around my neck, inefficient and tiresome.

So I looked the Doctor in the eye. "Your ship is alive," I stated.

Total shock covered the Doctor's face and for a moment he couldn't reply. "I-" he started, "you can't know that. How do you know that?"

I was surprised by his reaction. Couldn't everyone feel it? The humming in the air, in the mind? Apparently not. "I don't know," I fidgeted in my chair uncomfortably. "I can sort of… feel it."

The Doctor stared at me, confusion in ancient green eyes. "Alright." He spoke, "That's it." He grabbed arm and pulled me to my feet. The man had a strong grip despite his appearance.

"What are you doing?!" I jerked away from him. The Doctor gave me an exasperated look.

We'd caught John's attention by this point and he looked on with interest.

"I need to confirm whether you're human or not," the Doctor explained.

I rolled my eyes. "I _know _that. Why are you grabbing my arm like some sort of leech?!"

The Doctor just threw his hands in the air and walked away. "Follow me!" He shouted over his shoulder. He entered a hallway to the left and didn't look back.

I glanced at John, who shrugged. "If you're an alien then that would explain a-"

"Shut up. Of course I'm human. Don't even joke."

"Got it."

Huffing, I shoved my hands into my pockets and followed the Doctor down the hallway. I could still feel the ship's presence in the back of my mind and it- no, _she _nudged me in the right direction. John trailed after me, fascination in his eyes. After several minutes of walking, he grew restless "Where are we going?"

"No idea."

"... then how can you know we're going the right way?"

"If you don't know where you're going, then it doesn't really matter which way you go, right?" I quoted.

John just looked baffled and maybe slightly annoyed. "No Sherlock, it sort of does matter."

I glanced at him and shrugged. Wasn't the ship nudging him also?

I was about to come up with some sort of reply, but then I heard the footfalls of the Doctor in a room with glass walls.

One glance and I supposed it was a medical bay of some sort, although it was clearly more advanced than any human hospital. The Doctor spun around the moment I entered the room.

"Good!" He cried, "you found your way. I thought you might. The TARDIS seems to like you."

"Apparently."

The Doctor ignored my reply and pointed at a metal chair in the middle of the room. My stomach twisted just slightly. Me? Nervous? Ridiculous.

I was slightly agitated.

Of course I was human. There was no other possibility. Was there?

The Doctor took a gadget out of a glass cupboard and set it on a table so that it was pointed at me. "The TARDIS is making me a new screwdriver at the moment, so this will have to do. Oh, and take your shirt off, Sherlock."

I shot him a glare.

"Or not." He adjusted a few settings and then stepped back. "Right. Stay still."

I complied.

A blue light shot out from the front of the strange gadget and scanned me from head to foot. The whole experience lasted about three seconds.

Then the Doctor jumped forward. He snatched up the gadget and read whatever was displayed on the surface. Then he slammed it down again. "Come on! That can't be right!"

I slumped down in the seat and put my hands behind my head. "Well?"

"You're human!" The Doctor shouted, almost angrily. "Totally human. One heart and everything! this machine declares you perfectly normal! You don't even have void stuff around you from traveling through time and space! You're honestly almost _too _human." He paced the room.

John frowned. "But that's not possible. Normal people don't just get up after being dead.."

The Doctor stopped at that. His gaze raked over me again. "You died? For how long?"

He didn't even question it.

I shrugged. "I few hours maybe? I don't really remember."

The Doctor slowly sat down against the edge of an examination table, lost in thought. "That's a stretch, even when I do it. It's best to be dead for the smallest time possible." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

I didn't miss his implication that he also was slippery in death's hands.

"You can't be human and be able to do what you're doing," he continued, "I mean, the only other species that comes close to this is-" He stopped. "I need you to tell me every odd thing about you."

John snorted. "That might take awhile."

"Shut up, John." I rolled my eyes. This Doctor man seemed to have at least a tiny bit bigger of a grasp of what was happening then I did. So I told him.

"Ever since I…woke up, things have been different. I weigh exactly a hundred pounds, which is impossible, my eyesight is better than before, I can teleport or something, there is gold in my blood cells, and-"

"Wait, gold?"

I nodded. "That's what it looked like."

The Doctor frowned and looked over his gadget again. "This would have picked up on something like that..." He grabbed a syringe and tossed it at me. "Draw some of your blood." He remembered from the stories that I would have no qualms stabbing myself with a needle. I shrugged and did as he asked. Then I tossed the syringe back.

The Doctor caught it without looking up and carefully pushed a drop of my blood onto a glass plate under a machine resembling a microscope. "Huh." The Doctor stated. "I can see the gold, like you said, but somehow it's not detected by machines. Clever." He looked up. "Whoever did this to you was extremely powerful."

I stood up and loosened the scarf around my neck. "You think someone did this?"

_Makes sense. Probable._

The Doctor nodded. "I _think _you're human, and that's a big 'think'. I might be wrong, but if you _are _human, then I think you've been... improved."

"Improved."

"Yeah."

I groaned. We were really just guessing here. So maybe someone had done this to me... or maybe not. Maybe I was some unusual life form no one knew about? And if I had been 'improved', then how and why, and by whom?

So many questions...

"Well," I sighed, "I always did like a good mystery."

At least I wasn't bored…

_**AN: PLEASE REVIEW! So Sherlock is definitely human, what now?**_

_**So random question, how did you start watching Doctor Who or Sherlock? Did someone tell you about it? Or maybe you saw it on the internet? I'm just curious. I remember being totally confused that the Doctor was like, three different people. I swear, that's the only reason I started watching. I was like, HOW DOES THIS WORK?!**_

_**Anywho, please review.**_

_**Huh. That sort of rhymed.**_

_**Cool.**_


	10. Conflicting Theories

Chapter Nine

Conflicting Theories

The Doctor was sipping tea as he poked around the flat. The man was fascinated, which is only expected considering we were famous and fictional from his point of view. "So this is Bakers street," he murmured, "I love it!" Throwing his hands in the air, the alien spun in a circle. His tea splashed out of the cup, but John was the only person who seemed to mind. In the corner, his blue box hummed.

The Doctor nodded several times, slammed his cup down, and sat on the top of our couch. I honestly could care less where he sat on the furniture, but when I glanced at John, I saw that it peeved him.

Ugh. Why did people have so many useless manners?

With a frown, the Doctor leaned forward. John's laptop was open and I had noticed it displayed John's blog. I hadn't read it because honestly, John's blog annoyed me. The Doctor picked up the computer and John opened his mouth to protest.

"Something catch your eye?" I murmured from my spot by the mantle piece.

"You could say so," the Doctor answered, tapping on the computer. "I forgot how primitive the technology is in this time period," he murmured. He frowned, tapped some more, and then spun the screen around. His eyes focused on John. "How long has this been going on?"

John shrugged, squinting at the screen. "Oh that! Sometimes people post cases onto my blog for Sherlock to see. Everything has been so insane I haven't shown that one to him yet."

"Yes, but how long has this case been here in particular?"

John thought for a moment and shrugged. "I dunno. A few days?" Suddenly he made a connection. Jumping forward, he pulled the laptop from the Doctor and stared at the screen. It was a message from an anonymous user and included in the message was a picture of an ice statue.

John's eyes shot up to mine. "You said you and the Doctor ran into a statue. Was it like this?"

I pushed forward and there the picture was. It was actually a collage of several pictures, all of different ice statues in a variety of gruesome poses. "Yes," I answered. "There's more of them..." I looked up at the Doctor. The alien was completely silent.

That was odd. The man never shut up. What he had seen on the screen was affecting him deeply.

I sighed inwardly. They were just statues!

"Our fanatical artist has struck again."

John shook his head. "No, Sherlock. It's more than that. Look," He pointed at the message. "It says that each statue matches the features of real people and the people are-"

"Missing," the Doctor interjected,"Their bodies not found? Told you so."

"Told me what?" I looked up at him. "That doesn't prove your hypothesis. "

"But it's sure interesting, isn't it?"

"They could still be alive."

"That's unlikely."

He was right. Several days with no sign of a missing person usually meant death.

John's head turned from the Doctor to me. "Wait, what does he think happened?"

The Doctor never said it, but I could guess his thoughts by his reaction. "_He_ thinks that someone is turning people into ice cubes."

John blinked. "Is that possible?"

"Yes." "No," the Doctor and I said at the same time.

I turned away and paced the floor. If I had happened to look, I would have seen that the carpet was worn away because of how often I paced in that particular spot.

There had to be another explanation. A logical one.

Then it dawned on me. How idiotic not to think of this sooner...

"if this ice sculptor _is _actually killing people, he could be doing it in another way besides turning them into ice." I rolled my eyes at my stupidity.

"Could be a she..." John offered.

I shook my head. "Some of the male statues are massive people. It's unlikely a woman would be able to overpower them." I let out a frustrated huff and continued thinking out loud. "Serial killers, which he seems to be, often have ways of showing their dominance over their victims. Some brand the bodies, leave a token, that sort of thing."

"So this killer might be showing his dominance by-"

"Sculpting a statue of his victims in their last moments? And then destroying the body in one way or another." I nodded. "Yes, that makes sense."

The Doctor watched the two of us and finally shook his head. "That's horrible."

"No worse than you're theory, Doctor," I countered, hands clasped behind my back.

"It's still horrible. How can you not be affected? Either way, people still died."

I stopped pacing and looked at him. For a moment I wanted to tell him what I really thought, but then I decided against it.

Of course I was affected, but instead of being shut down, I took any feelings of horror or remorse and funneled it into my ability to function. It wasn't logical to let emotions keep me from acting to the best of my ability. I'd been turning my emotions into action for so long that I hardly felt remorse anymore. People die. It's what they do. All I could do was catch the culprit and stop him before anyone else got hurt.

John sighed. "He's Sherlock Holmes, Doctor. Don't expect much on the sympathetic side."

I scowled at my partner but didn't say anything. John was completely right, I just didn't like him saying it.

The Doctor stood up and looked me in the eye. He had to tilt his head up slightly to do so, which ruined the intimidating effect. "Well then, Sherlock Holmes. You wouldn't mind hearing my theory then?"

"Certainly not. Proceed." I kept eye contact with him the entire time and was surprise to see he did not look away.

He was confident in his opinion. Very confident. It was almost like he was listened to my theory just to humor himself.

"Right then." He smirked. "While I was traveling here in the TARDIS I took time to examine the statue."

"Alright."

He bounced on his heels. "You know that the human body is made between 50 and 60% of water?"

"I _am _a scientist, Doctor," I said. "Yes. I'm aware."

"Good. So then you know that all of that water is not in one place, it is distributed throughout every cell, every vein, every bit of tissue."

"... Yes."

He smiled. "So what would happen if everything _except _water was removed from the body?"

I rolled my eyes. "Even if that we're possible-"

"No!" He held up a finger. "Humor me, Mr. Holmes."

I nodded. "Fine."

"If every single cell of a human body was removed, then there would be just water, right?"

"What's your point?"

"My point," the Doctor said, "is that once the body had been removed, the temperature would change drastically because of the lack of body heat, causing an imbalance in the molecules that would-"

"Instantly freeze it into an ice statue exactly resembling the person," I finished. "Yes, of course." That certainly was clever. "Alright." I spoke. I'd humor his theory. "but why would someone do that?"

"It could be a life form who channels everything into an energy of some sort? A force?" He scratched his chin. "Maybe they're using life energy inside the cells, but for some reason don't need water? There's plenty of reasons."

I sighed. This was ridiculous. "It would work, but only if there was a way to remove everything from the body except water... Which is impossible."

"It's also impossible to travel through time and space without a Vortex Manipulator or a TARDIS," the Doctor countered with a smug look. He put his arm around my shoulder without my consent.

_Touché,_ I thought. I moved to pull the Doctor's arm off of me when I heard something.

_If he only knew what I've seen. _The Doctor's voice pounded through my skull and then a sudden brick wall cut the sound off.

I jerked away from him, startled. the Doctor's lips hadn't moved, I was sure of it. But then where did the voice come from?

The Doctor jerked away at the same time as me. We stared at each other with wide eyes. He shook his head rapidly and then took another step away.

"How did you do that?" His voice was deadly serious.

"Do what?" I knew exactly what.

The Doctor looked at me like I'd grown horns. "I could feel you, just for a moment."

Shoot. This couldn't possibly be what it looked like.

Why did things have to get worse? Why couldn't I just be a detective? I accepted being someone who couldn't die, and traveled through time and space. Why did this have to happen now?

Uck.

"Would you believe me if I said I didn't do anything?"

"Ah-no. Not really." The Doctor shook his head. "You're more and more of a mystery, Sherlock." He held out his hand. "Touch me again."

I hesitated. "It wasn't exactly a pleasant feeling."

The Doctor cringed slightly. "Yeah, sorry. That was my wall. You startled me." He looked me in the eye. "I'll be gentle."

So I reached out and grasped his hand.

It took a moment, but then I heard it again. His voice wasn't as clear this time, with more static than anything else but I heard him all the same.

_Can you hear me?_ Several images passed behind my eyes, memories I couldn't quite see and half formed thoughts of an infinitely complex individual. He wasn't human. The differences between his mind and my own were as obvious as black and white paper.

It took a moment to compose myself but I managed to shoot a single word into his vast collection of thoughts. _Yes_.

John coughed to draw our attention and immediately the sensation stopped. I had completely forgotten about him. Jerking my hand back, I spun away. My hands gripped my hair and it took a moment for me to realize I was shaking.

"Can someone tell me what is going on here?" John demanded.

The Doctor watched me with concern, the diminishing ends of his thoughts showing shock and fascination and sympathy.

Sympathy. I didn't want the sympathy of the Time Lord. I wanted all of this to stop. To end. I didn't ask for any of this.

"Well John," the Doctor said, "it seems your friend here is a telepath."


	11. If I Could Forget

Chapter 11

"Excuse me, ma'am? Could you tell me the date?"

The woman stopped with an indulgent smile. "It's the twenty fifth."

"Of June? 2012?"

She laughed and gave me an odd look. "Yes of course!"

I didn't owe her an explanation. I gave it anyway. "I've been a bit busy of late."

She adjusted the strap of her purse and turned to go; however, at the last moment she paused. "I'm sorry, this is a bit weird, but I feel like I've seen you before. Are you an actor or something?"

I figured she recognized me from the article in the news announcing my untimely death, so I shook my head. "I don't think so."

She bit her lip and then shrugged. "I'm sure it will come to me."

And with that she walked off, ready to enter the ever moving stream of life once more.

"Hopefully not," I murmured.

I stood still, my back to a tree, and my hands in the pockets of my trench coat. I was at a well-lit park not five miles from my house. I knew because I had all the maps of London memorized. From the shadows I watched people speed along. A woman jogged with her poodle, and a child in a stroller ate Cheerios out of a cup. On a hidden bench, a homeless man tried to look inconspicuous.

Across from me, a businessman sucked a cigarette. I stared longingly at the cigarette for several seconds before shaking myself and turning away. I focused my attention on the children screaming in delight. They swung higher and higher on a swing set until one of the children jumped out and fell through the air several feet. His shout of fear and excitement echoed through the park and his feet kicked up clouds of sand when they finally hit the ground.

Never, not once, did I desire the lives of any of these people, but right now I would do anything to change my reality. Right now a large part of me was willing to become oblivious to the world the way they were.

_I live for logic. I am logic. And now I defy the very laws of nature._

Jeez, it was distracting.

"Drat it, Sherlock. Get over yourself," I muttered.

Sighing, I closed my eyes and breathed in the evening air. It was a nippy night and I hugged my coat tighter to me. There was a moment of absolute silence and then I heard footsteps behind me. They were light, a lady's. Quickly I swiveled around.

It was the woman, the one who I asked the date. She stared at me with wide blue eyes, her blonde hair whipped up into a hasty bun. "I- I thought about it and I didn't think it could be you." She smiled timidly. "but... if it is, want you to know I was always a fan of John's blog and I don't believe any of the things they're saying about you."

I blinked. What was I suppose to say? Thanks? I nodded stiffly and hoped the woman would move on. She didn't.

Instead she looked at me sadly. "I'm so sorry about John. I'm sure you'll find him."

I frowned inwardly. John was missing? Since when? There was a bench to my left and the woman sat down. Slowly, I followed suit and the woman looked at me expectantly. "You _are _him, right? You're Sherlock Holmes?"

"Of course I am," I replied cautiously.

She nodded. "The news said you were dead, but… well, obviously not."

I watched the woman carefully and let my mind run through deductions.

_She's a Size 12_

_Part time nurse_

_Romantic_

_Baker_

_Secret Tattoo_

She was a complicated woman, more so than most people. She liked cats, hated rainy days. The woman was persuasive and clever and was constantly plagued by guilt. She was far from perfect, and wasn't afraid to hide it; however, she wasn't proud of her mistakes. She learned through trial and error and that was something I approved of. What was the point in trying to hide something everyone already knew was true?

But above all of this, she was lonely. Totally and completely alone in the world.

I knew how that felt.

Shaking away the thought, I got back to the subject at hand. I didn't have time to mope over my lack of social ability.

I nodded seriously. "I need you to tell me everything you know about John's disappearance."

She frowned. "I'm not sure how much help I'll be. I know just as much as everybody else."

"That _is _the idea."

A light lit her eyes. "Oh! You want to know how much the public has been told."

I was surprised. That wasn't the reason, but it was a clever and logical assumption. Clever woman indeed... "Not many people understand how important it can be," I explained vaguely.

Nodding, she thought for a moment. "John Watson went missing a few days ago and the police located his statue so it's assumed he's in the same boat as all of the other missing-"

"Wait-statue?"

She nodded and her bun bounced back and forth. "Yeah, the ice statues? Everyone's heard of it."

I nodded. "Yes, yes. Of course."

Shoot.

My stomach twisted uncomfortably and I looked away from the woman. John was missing and if the Doctor's, or my theory was correct, then probably dead. I couldn't let that happen. I wouldn't!

Standing up swiftly, I spun away. The woman stood up too, concern written clearly in her eyes.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I've upset you."

In shock, I turned to look at the woman. No one except John could see when I was hiding how I really felt. I gulped. "What's you're name?" I asked.

The woman gave me a sad smile. "Mary. Mary Morstan."

I nodded and put my hands into my pockets. "You have been extremely helpful, Mary. Now, I must be going."

If John was dead less than a week, then I needed to travel back to the present and prevent it. I needed to leave _now._

So I turned to leave, but the woman, Mary, grasped my arm.

"Don't leave." Her voice was no louder than a whisper. "Let me help you."

I stopped and looked at her. Then I shook my head. "You can't help me. What you can do is go on with your life and forget you ever saw me." I took my arm back gently, turned, and began walking away.

Three seconds passed.

"Wait!"

I sighed. Was she not getting the message?

Mary Morstan raced after me and shoved her hand into mine. "If I can help somehow," she insisted, "this is my address."

And with that Mary backed away and I lost her in the crowd. Glancing at my hand, I saw on the corner of a used napkin she wrote her address. Shrugging, I pocketed the napkin. Why not?

Then without further adue, I hid myself behind a small shed and began my trip back to the present. John was in danger. There was no time to waste.

AN: Sorry about the wait! PLEASE REVIEW!


	12. Don't Touch

_**AN: don't freak out that it's in third person for the beginning of the chapter. It's not a mistake, and I actually have a reason... **__**For once**_.

Chapter 12

Don't Touch

The rain fell very softly outside; pattered across the rooftops and dripped down glass window panes like tie toeing dancers.

Rain. It was always raining in London of late.

Sherlock hoped that as long as he kept totally distracted, he could keep his mind from spinning off into directions he didn't want it to go.

"_Is that how he does it then, Doctor? He's been telepathic the whole time?" _

_"Don't be ridiculous, John. He's _Sherlock Holmes _for Rassilon's sake."_

Sherlock heard the conversation through his shut door a few hours ago. Pushing it from his mind, he lay face down on the bed and refused to move. Sherlock had to stay in his flat because according to everyone else, he was dead, and until John could clear everything up, also a criminal. However, he had plenty of distractions.

It had been hours and he still refused to leave his room. Eventually he fell asleep. The detective didn't realize how exhausted he was until he laid down and found himself waking up twenty hours or so later. At this point he really didn't care. John came in at some point to check on Sherlock. The detective's coat was on a chair back instead of the floor, and his shoes were off.

He groaned and rubbed his eyes.

Jeez, Sherlock couldn't seem to make up his mind. Sometimes he could accept what was happening to him and move forward, and then there were moments like this where he felt paralyzed.

So he watched the raindrops drip down the glass and the cars race past his little apartment. Everyone was moving, but he was stuck.

For some reason this was the last straw. Telepathy. Come on. Soon he wasn't going to even need his deductive skills! The thought tasted horrible in his mouth. People often thought he could read minds.

"How do you know that?"

"I don't know, I notice."

How ironic.  
It was almost a cruel joke to give him this ability in particular.  
There was no way, no matter how 'improved' he became, would he let these new skills trump his ability to use his mind. It was like cheating. Sherlock could solve a crime without any of this, and he intended to continue deducing exactly the way he always had.

Exhaling dramatically Sherlock fell backwards onto his bed and stared at the ceiling fan. It turned around and around, oblivious to the struggle of the man beneath it.

This was his life now. He either accepted it or...

There was no other option.

He sighed. Fine.

Suddenly a murmur filled the air. "Hey Sherlock?"

John.

His voice was muffled by the wooden door. "There's breakfast out here if you want some."

Sherlock didn't reply. John didn't try to enter the room, and Sherlock imagined him standing there, his hand hovering over the knob.

"Just leave him be," said another voice. The Doctor. He was still here, the bloody pest. "He'll come out eventually."

Eventually.

Sherlock exhaled sadly. If he wanted to move forward, then he would have to come out of this room at some point.

But right now he didn't want to see anyone. He didn't want to be touched. Didn't want to see John's concern, or feel the Doctor's sympathy. He was afraid of them. Sherlock Holmes was afraid. Hard to believe, but true.

He was afraid of all the impossibility that had become his life, of the people that watched it happen.

Closing his eyes, Sherlock wondered where Molly got to. She must have gone home after he disappeared the first time. He thought he heard her voice earlier, but Sherlock figured he could have been mistaken. She was annoying at times, but right now a hesitant smile from the woman would be welcome.

Alright. He couldn't stay in this room, but he didn't want to faces the people outside. He couldn't go onto the street for fear of being spotted, so what to do? It was quite a problem.

Then a small smile tugged his lips. Of course. Obviously.

Closing his eyes, Sherlock gripped the edge of the bed tightly. Now. How to do it... The first two times he traveled it wasn't on purpose. He didn't know how to make it happen.

Mind palace.

It had to be in there somewhere.

_He found himself in the center of a spotlight in an otherwise dark room. Sherlock hadn't been here in a long while._

_Quickly, he sorted through empty information and common factors to the experience, but that gave him no help. He needed to find the root of it, the source._

_So he dug deeper into the dark room. Childhood memories floated past and bits of information he didn't need. It was slow going, digging through all of his thoughts._

_The detective was about to give up when he spotted something. There. A spark._

_Right in front of him and he didn't see it! It was something foreign, something that wasn't of his own making._

_With a twitch of his finger, the spark grew larger and brighter until it lit up the whole room. It burned his eyes, but he stared at it anyways. This was it. He found it, the root of whatever power was allowing him to do what he did. But what was it? Why was it inside of him? How did it get there?_

_Slowly Sherlock reached forward. I need to leave, he told the fire. Listen to me. He let his fingers brush against the flame, but was hot, scalding hot like real flames. Quickly, Sherlock jumped away from it. His fingers stung with pain._

Startled by the experience, Sherlock opened his eyes into icy blue reality and pressed his fingers to his mouth. It took a moment to register that he was physically injured by the fire in his head. Then he stared at his fingers in fascination.

He found the root of it, but here he was, still in his room.

Frustrated, Sherlock stood up and kicked his dresser. What was the use of being able to travel through time and space when it only happened at the worst of times?

He kicked the dresser again for good measure and was about to sit down again when everything froze.

He let out a bark of surprised laughter and smiled.  
It worked!  
Everything burned away around him and within moments Sherlock was falling into a tunnel of light.

He didn't specify his destination. As long as he was away from his room, Sherlock didn't really care.

The moment past-Sherlock left, I stumbled into the room, tattered and exhausted. Apparently the more times I traveled, the harder it became. My breath came in gasps and I let myself fall against the wall. my stomach had enough of time and space displacement. Racing to the bathroom across the hall from my bedroom, I would have thrown up in the toilet if my stomach was not already empty. I slumped down on the white tiles, feeling nauseous and weak. Fingers tapping on the toilet seat, I closed my eyes and exhaled. At least I was in the right place, back only a moment after I left. That was good.

Hurried footsteps pattered down the hall. John and the Doctor no doubt.

Suddenly I sat up. John. John was in trouble, or rather, would be. I attempted to stand, but my knees gave out and I decided I didn't really want to get up anyway.

Rounding the corner, John peered anxiously into the bathroom. His eyes widened. "Wh Sherlock? Are you okay?"

"Yes."I rubbed the back of my neck. "In a minute. I think."

John frowned. "Alright. Why are you on the floor?"

"It's actually rather comfortable down here."

Sighing, John moved aside so the Doctor could look into the bathroom. The Doctor grinned at me and I scowled. My legs weren't working at the moment and I planned on waiting for them to leave before pitifully limping to my room, but the Gallifreyan pushed forward. "Back already?"

"How did you know?"

"Time displacement. I can sense it when you travel. Sorta feels like wind, but with time... sort of."

John was confused. I saw it on his face. I hardly understood myself, and I'm a genius.  
"He's a time sensitive species, John." I explained wearily, remembering the term from the Time Lord's memories and thoughts.

"And that is ?"

The Doctor patted John on the shoulders. "Don't worry about it. Now." He turned to Sherlock. "You need help."

For heaven's sake. Like I was going to admit that.

"No."  
I waited.  
They didn't go away.

Daggonit.

"John." I sighed, "Give me your hand."

John didn't let his emotions show because he knew smiling at that moment would seriously tick me off. The Doctor stepped back and John stretched down a hand.

I grasped it and he pulled me up. I didn't say thank you because it was embarrassing enough to need help at all. Suddenly I felt a sizzle of electricity zip up my arm, coming from John's fingertips.

'_Prideful idiot.' _

_'Where did he go?' _

_'We're trying to help.' _

Jerking back, I stumbled pass them and pushed my way into the kitchen.

Cant be touched. I can't be touched without hearing the person's thoughts. it terrified me.  
"Sherlock?" John called after me, confused and surprized.  
I didn't answer, leaning heavily against the kitchen counter to support my wobbly form. John's thoughts. I didn't want to hear John's thoughts.

John followed me into the kitchen and stood there, not saying anything. He opened his mouth and I held up a finger. "Don't. Please."

Glancing up, I saw the shock on the man's face. I didn't say please. Ever.

But right now I was tired and scared. I didn't want his questions. To keep him from speaking; asking why I jumped away; wondering whether I was a fraud, I opened my own mouth.

"Right. John. You need to be within sight for at least a week."  
John blinked. "Uh. Why?"  
"Because I said so." I snapped, "If you leave then I can't keep an eye on you."

John was really not getting this. He cocked his head and bit his lip. "Right. Why do you need to do that?"

The Doctor walked into the room. He fiddled with an experiment on the kitchen table and I scowled at him. "Because unless I stop it, in under a week you're going to be one of the ice statues."

**_AN: fast update! Woohoo! Sorry about maybe throwing you guys off in the last chapter. I accidentally published it out of order,(originally this chapter was chapter 11) then it was too late to change it, so I just made it all Timey Wimey. So yeah. Sorry to leave you hanging:) Please review! What's your all-time favorite doctor who episode_**?


	13. Catching Clouds

Chapter 13

Catching Clouds

"It's been _days_, Sherlock!" John cried, slumping down in a chair. "_Days_!"

The TARDIS hummed around us and murmured quietly in my ears. I ignored her along with John.

"I'm aware of the passage of time," I replied, not turning. My heart was beating slowly, in time with the electronic pulses of the time machine. Hunger and exhaustion plagued my mind but I ignored the desires. I didn't have time. Think about that. _Me _with no time.

John was in trouble. There was a mystery to solve. And I couldn't solve it.

The Doctor scratched his chin, inspecting one of the seven ice statues that stood in various poses around the TARDIS. He yawned and pressed a few buttons on a massive dashboard of some sort. A sudden light lit up his eyes and instantly my attention riveted to him.

"What is it?"

"My new screwdriver is ready!" he cried, dashing to the other side of the circular dashboard. "Well," he amended, "it's actually a replica of my other screwdriver, but since that one is… out of service, it will have to suffice." He glared at me for a moment before pressing more buttons, taking two steps to the left and then pressing the same buttons again.

I stifled a yawn. "A… screwdriver. The thing the future me gave you and then made you give to someone else?"

The Doctor nodded rapidly, his hair bouncing with just as much excitement as his smile. "Yes! She finally-" he stopped. "Wait. I never told you about- oh never mind." No, he never explicitly said it, but he implied as much on several occasions. He waved his confusion away and enticed an amused smirk from my lips. I didn't remember doing such a thing, so therefore, future me. Also, he kept blaming me for his lack of a screwdriver, but at the same time he also had mentioned me giving it to him.

There's a problem with being one of the most intelligent people on the planet. You're constantly underestimated.

My eyes wandered lazily across the large room. How funny that the size change no longer bothered me. I supposed I was as adaptable as any human. "So what?" I said, "What's so impressive about this 'screwdriver'? I assume it's not what it sounds like."

"Correctamundo!" crowed the Doctor. He cringed. "For Rassilon's sake, remind me to never say that. It's a rubbish word."

"It's not a word at all," I countered grouchily. Standing up, I crossed the room so that I stood at the Time Lord's side. The TARDIS vibrated and suddenly a hole opened up on a central dashboard that I assumed was used to fly the time machine. Nifty, if a bit overly complex. Most of those buttons weren't even wired up; I checked. I supposed the Doctor just thought it looked impressive.

Instantly a metallic tube pushed through the hole in the dashboard. It was made of a grey, shining metal and had a single button on the side. Blinking rapidly, a green light on the tip guided my attention. The light was held in a small claw of some sort. It reminded me of those claws in arcade games, the sort that Mycroft always spectacularly failed at. I knew a trick to get a toy every time and it drove Mycroft crazy when I didn't tell him my 'secret'. Curious, I reached for the screwdriver, but the Doctor quickly slapped my hand and snatched it away.

"No touch, Sherly. Not after what you did _last _time."

The fact that he called me _Sherly _kept me from wondering what I did last time. "I swear, if you call me that again Doctor I'll kill you."

"He actually might," John piped. "Kill you, I mean." He was sitting by himself, watching us. "You should see the way he looks at Mycroft when-"

"Shut up, John." I rolled my eyes, walked away from the center of the room and decided to let the offence drop. "What exactly does your screwdriver do, Doctor?"

"It opens doors," He started, listing with his fingers. "Closes up timey… things. Controls just about anything electronic. _And_, it also can bake a perfect souffle."

"Seriously?" John asked, impressed.

"Yes. Not sure why I included the souffle bit. Just seemed-"

Groaning, I rubbed my eyes wearily. "That's beside the point. Can it help us with John's... predicament?"

"Do you mean my oncoming death, Sherlock?" John replied, snarky.

"Yes, that would be it."

The Doctor thought for a moment. He tapped the screwdriver against his chin a few times and nodded slowly. "Yes, I think it can." His lips lifted slightly as an idea sprouted behind his eyes, growing by the moment. "Yes! If we can get a DNA sample of… it. Then I can find- we can track it with the TARDIS!"

I nodded. That was good. That would work. John's eyes light up and he shifted his weight eagerly.

Then I slumped. The Doctor did also, coming to the same realization as I. "But they don't leave tracks, much less DNA." I murmured.

"Then what do we do?" John asked. No one said anything.

My stomach shifted emptily and I leaned back against the TARDIS wall. Crap. After inspecting every single site where a statue was found, there was nothing. No evidence. Nada. None.

_Maybe I missed something?_

_I never miss anything. _

_Good grief. Is this what it's like to be normal?_

"It's horrific," I muttered. No one heard. We could get nowhere, even with the Doctor's screwdriver. With every second that passed, John's unknown deadline ticked closer. Leaning my head against the humming metal, I closed my eyes and let the TARDIS's song murmured in my mind, gently supporting me. What was I supposed to do?

The TARDIS wouldn't answer, but I continued to listen to her familiar song all the same. I had never heard it before, but I remembered it from… somewhere.

She was familiar, the TARDIS, the way a mother might be. Not mine, but most other mothers. I believed _my _mother was the most idiotic woman on the planet. And I told her so. Several times.

She loved me anyway. Not sure why or how.

However, the TARDIS was bigger, _deeper_ than even a mother's familiarity. I could feel the electricity pulsing through her metallic veins; life, beauty, intelligence. I knew her like I'd always known her. As if she was family.

"Sherlock! I'm trying to talk to you." John grumbled, "Do you mind?"

"No." I blinked open my eyes and pushed away from the machine. I'd think more on her sensation later. I frowned at John, who sat dejectedly on the floor of the TARDIS. "There isn't anything I can do, John." I sighed. "Unless we can get a DNA sample...without data…"

The Doctor gave up scanning the statues and sat down next to John "You could always just stay in here, John," he offered, "nothing can get through those doors."

Snorting, John ran a hand through his hair. "But I'll be stuck here forever, a- a _prisoner_!"

"It's not so bad," the Doctor insisted, "and you could leave-"

"But then you'll be murdered," I interrupted, my voice low.

Poor John looked like he'd been shot. Great. I suppose that wasn't the best thing to say. But treading lightly wouldn't do him any good anyhow. It was better for him to face it.

The Doctor shot me a glare."Sherlock, I'm _trying _to look on the bright side."

"Yes, a horrid habit. You ought to curb it." I was done being tender. John was going to die. I was stuck, and time was running out. "If I could find a way- a way to flush out the person, or rather, people doing this, then I'd have a much better grasp on the situation," I murmured. "We need DNA. It's our only lead."

"But that's not possible," John replied from the floor. "You just said it yourself. They leave behind no traces."

Nodding, I bit my lip anxiously. "Yes. But that's the thing, John." I walked up to him, pulled the man to his feet, and continued pacing around the dashboard. I wore gloves almost constantly now, woolen ones. After another episode with the Doctor, I was tired of looking into other people's minds. It was terrifying.

I said I was cold, that's why. John didn't believe that, and neither did the Doctor. They didn't say anything though, and I was glad. I wasn't cold. Just afraid. In my opinion, it was better not to touch people at all then to become some sort of fraud. I refused to let my new abilities surpass my former abilities. "Everyone leaves traces;" I continued, "small, nearly invisible at times, but honest, reliable traces. Nobody can go about without leaving anything." I paused, nearing them in my circle around the complex dashboard. "And what's odd- there weren't any signs at all. Nothing. It was like no one had ever set a foot on the concrete. They not only erased their own tracks, they erased everyone elses'!"

"Unless that's a trace in of itself." the Doctor piped, standing up.

"Didn't you just hear me? Every-"

"_Human_ leaves traces, Sherlock." interrupted the Doctor. "You ought to just accept it."

I snorted. "Just like that?" I snapped my fingers. "Everything with me happens. You show up, and suddenly there are _aliens _murdering people." I shook my head. "No. There's never been aliens. They _never _existed."

"Yes." the Doctor nodded. "Not a single alien could slip into your universe. It was tightly sealed."

"But _you _got in," John inserted, frowning.

That was a good point. The Doctor wasn't human.

The Doctor didn't seem phased by this at all. "Exactly. This is what I think, Sherlock."

"What?"

"When you died and came back, it wasn't possible. Not in this universe."

I smiled sarcastically, "If it were possible, Doctor, then there wouldn't be a problem."

"But it's not. See, the thing is, in my universe it's _completely _possible to come back to life. Not everyone can, but I've done it…" He paused, counting. "Eleven times now... I think."

John's eyebrows shot to the ceiling. I wasn't surprised. The Doctor alluded to his near immortality several times. Not to mention I had also been in his head. Twice. "Eleven times!" John cried, "How old are you?"

"Nine hundred or so, I believe," I answered before the Doctor could. They both looked at me and I shifted uncomfortably under their gaze. I caught a glimpse of the Doctor's age during my brief time in his mind. Great. I couldn't even _publicly _ignore my impossible abilities. Sighing I waved them away. "What's your point, Doctor?"

A childish excitement built up behind the Time Lord's eyes and he opened his mouth with a smile. "I think that your revival created a sort of vacuum effect. Revival in humans is impossible, but it happened and your universe didn't know what to do about it. To fill up or 'fix' the impossibility that had just occurred, it found a universe where coming back to life is possible and opened up a little hole between the universes to sort of… counterbalance your effect."

John blinked. "What."

I glanced at him and then back at the Doctor. "So you're saying that aliens have been sucked from your universe into ours to balance out the fact that I didn't stay dead."

The Doctor jumped up and down for a second. "Yes! Yes! Exactly! That's why I was able to follow your co-ordinance so easily! Your universe was _dying _to connect to a universe that could ease the impossibility! It found a Time Lord and was happy to pull me in!"

I slumped against the console, hands in my pockets. Huh. What he said made sense in a wild, ridiculous way.

"But that doesn't explain how you did it," John spoke, "Came back to life, I mean."

Slowly I nodded. "No. It doesn't."

"We'll worry about that later," The Doctor said. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and then hopped away. I brushed myself off and stood straighter.

"Where's he going?" John asked.

"To solve _your _mystery, John."

_Playground design from the nineteen-nineties. Boring._

_Metal slide. Rusted. Two swings. Screeching. Teeter-totter. Empty. What is the point of playgrounds again?_

_I hate gravel. Then you have to wear shoes otherwise it hurts your feet. _

_Stay on task. _

_Gravel is freshly swept. No footsteps whatsoever. _I _have to remember not to make footsteps. Don't be seen by police._

_Perhaps criminal swept to cover his tracks? No, would see lines made by a rake. And he couldn't do that on the sites with concrete… which he has._

_Sun is too bright out here. Should have brought sun glasses._

_But it's cloudy. Huh._

_No. Stay focused._

_The statue was…here. Positioned like she was scrambling up the slide. As if she was trying to run from something. Glad we picked up that one. Terrifying to the children. Not that they don't need a little terror ever so often. Keeps them on their toes._

_Bloody Mycroft. He used to scare the wits out of me just to make a point. _He _was more in control of his emotions. As if._

_No! Stop wandering! Focus! There has to be some sign! Something that shows who's doing this!_

_Crap._

"You alright, Sherlock?"

John.

"Yes." _No. I'm panicking._ "It's just the same as the other seven. No signs whatsoever." I threw my hands in the air. "Who could _possibly _be this good?!"  
Not even I could hide my tracks this well. _And I'm probably the best. Well. That's being modest. I _am _the best._

"Moriarty?" John suggested.

That was good. "But he's dead." I said.

"So are you."

Another valid point. He was getting better at those. Slightly.

Still, Moriarty wasn't an artist. Not like this. No one created statues like this. And also, Moriarty left tracks. I had seen them. Followed them. Even if they were tiny, brilliant, nearly invisible tracks, they were still tracks.

The Doctor walked off of the sidewalk and sat down on one of the swings. His feet dangled, his breath hung in the air, and the swing set screeched in protest. What a childlike man, for one so old. I flinched at the high pitched sound made by the swings but otherwise gave no sign that it bothered me. "You've just desecrated a crime scene." I muttered, deadpan. "Congratulations."

The Doctor shrugged, swinging higher. "You said there wasn't anything anyway."

He was right. We needed a new tactic. Looking for evidence at the 'crime scene' got us nowhere. Slowly, a germ of an idea lodged itself in the back of my mind. I glanced at it and swiftly turned away. No. I couldn't do that. If I failed, the consequences would be overwhelming.

_It would kill me. _I _would kill me. _

_Or... Done that. Not possible. Still unpleasant._

_Slightly inconvenient._

_The only option is success._

_John is going to die._

_I can only save John if I know who's going to kill him. I _need _the DNA._

Not ideal, but if my plan worked, then it would be worth it. If it failed, well… it wouldn't fail. John would be furious and so would the Doctor, but there wasn't any other way.

Jumping into action, I waved over the Doctor and John and began walking toward the blue box hiding in the trees.

"What is it?" John asked, jogging to keep up with my long strides.

"I know how to get some DNA."

"You do?" the Doctor asked, surprised. "How?"

Guilt settled in my stomach. I looked into the Time Lord's eyes. "Do you trust me?"

For a fraction of a second, a moment most people missed, the Doctor hesitated. "Yes," he said. His face said something different. _Translation: You're Sherlock Holmes. What does trusting you even mean?_

I nodded. I'd deal with the Doctor later. He wasn't vital anyway. "And you, John?"

"Of course." No hesitation there… which was not helping the cold stone in my stomach. John frowned, his brow wrinkling. "Sherlock, what's this abou-?"

"Let's go." I swung around, and my coat swirled behind me. I continued toward the TARDIS and to my surprise, and the Doctor's dumbfoundment, the blue door swung inward the moment my fingers rested on the wood.

Clever.

I didn't take time to think about it, instead I walked inside and turned to the Doctor. John entered behind the Time Lord and closed the door. The poor man was confused, as usual."0424 April Drive, Doctor." I spoke, "London, England…" I paused. "Hum… Earth?"

"No need to go on," the Doctor grumbled, hopping up the steps and quickly sending us spiraling into the Time Vortex. "Why?"

"I'll explain later."

"This better be good."

I raised an eyebrow as if to say _I'm _me_, of course it'll be good._

The TARDIS settled beneath our feet and my breath quickened ever so slightly. Could I really do this?

Of course I could. I'd do _anything _for John Watson. Hands shoved deep into my pockets, I made my way to the front door and opened it quickly. Instantly a beam of moonlight pierced the floor. Glancing back, I waved the Doctor and John forward and swiftly, we swept out of the time machine. The door shut with a soft click.

We were in an alleyway. It was dark; smelled of wet smoke and gasoline. Broken beer bottles crunched under my feet and my breath hung in the air like ghosts. Every breath was an exhale I couldn't take back, a step I couldn't erase. Clinging to us, the fog circled and slurped, creating an eerie feel to the night. The smallest of gaps in the fog let a single beam of moonlight stream into the alleyway like a spotlight. Like we were on a stage and this was just show. For a moment a thought trickled into the back of my mind. What if this was all just a dream; a story some insignificant nobody made up? What if we were all just puppets playing our parts in somebody's fantasy?

If that were true then I refused to participate. No one would control me. No one. Not even an author. I shook the strange feeling away. How ridiculous. _This _was real. Right now. Reality.

Dropping the trail of thought, I focused on my current dulima. John.

The soldier stood in the alley hugging his arms to himself in a very uncharacteristic manner. Like he was cold. Meanwhile, the Doctor scanned the walls with his screwdriver. He frowned at the instrument and tried again. Apparently he wasn't getting the results he wanted.

"Alright," I murmured. "Your gun, John?"

The Doctor groaned and I ignored him.

Sighing, John put his hands on his hips. "Now _why _would I just happen to have a gun on hand?"

"You're a soldier who's been told that he's going to die and now you're standing in a dark alley with a sociopath and an alien. You've got a gun."

John gave me a sardonic glare before reaching behind him and pulling a gun out from the back of his pants.

I gave a sorry attempt at a smile, and took the gun in my hand. Quickly, I cocked it and handed it back to him. "I believe that 'it' should be around here somewhere. The Doctor and I will check the alley across the street, you look up and down this one. If you see anything shout for us."

John's face hardened. "Got it."

I turned to leave and the Doctor followed me with a curious frown on his face. "Oh, and John?" I said.

"Yes?"

"Don't be afraid to use it." I gestured at the gun.

Immediately the Doctor's head snapped up. "What? No! Don't use it! This could be misunderstanding!"

Seriously? Was he really going to go there? "It's killed at least eight people, Doctor, in terrifying and horrific ways. It's not a misunderstanding; it's a carefully calculated maneuver. Callous and uncaring. John?" I turned to John. "Shoot it."

He nodded and the Doctor and I jogged toward the other alley. This one was much like the other, but I didn't really care not notice. I wasn't looking at the alley, I was watching John. The moment we slunk into the shadows I doubled back and pressed myself against the brick wall. I could see John silhouetted in the moonlight. Meanwhile the Doctor crept up behind me. Without even touching him, I could feel his anger toward me. I supposed it was the fact that he was also physic. The anger poured off him in waves. "You talk of callous and uncaring, _Sherlock Holmes_." He growled. He said my name like it was an insult. "I know what you're doing. Do not underestimate me."

"You're a nine hundred year old alien genius. I have no intention of underestimating you," came my murmured reply. I knew it would take but a moment for the Doctor to figure out my plan. "It will work."

The Doctor huffed, his arms crossed. "Perhaps. But at what costs? He could _die_! You're using your friend as-as bloody _bait_!" he hissed, "I would think future knowledge of his death would sort of put off a stunt like this!"

I clenched and unclenched my fists. Everything he said was common knowledge to me. Swiveling away from John, I faced the Time Lord angrily. "Look, Doctor. Do not for a moment think that I have not processed every outcome of this situation! I am fully aware of the stakes. But it's either _this_, or John _dies_ by the hand of a mysterious menace _I_ failed to stop. We need to draw it out!"

The Doctor's expression shifted. Reluctant, but paused in his anger. He was thinking now; not with the emotional part of him, but with the rational part. And he knew I was right. Of course I was right.

Then something changed. His mouth opened. Closed. "Sherlock-"

"I felt something strange the first time I met you, Doctor." I interrupted, ignoring his words, "It was inside the alleyway John's in now- left ice on my coat but I managed to get away."

I frowned at the Doctor. What was wrong with him? "Was it cold?" he whispered, "In the fog? Shapeless?"

I blinked, surprised. "Yes, actually. How do you-"

Oh.

I shut my eyes for a moment. "Stupid. _Stupid_ me," Neither of us moved. "Of course!" I hissed, "What predator doesn't go for the bigger bait?" If the Doctor's theory was right, and it was harvesting the energy from the cells of human beings, I bet the Doctor and I looked far tastier than John.

My mouth went dry and fear wrapped her tentacles around my racing heart like a snake around a jack rabbit. "Is it... behind me?"

The Doctor gave the slightest nod, his green eyes wide and shining in the darkness. Right. If we didn't make a move, any instant my defenses would be struck down and I'd be helpless to the... thing. My eyes locked with the Time Lord's.

_On three we run,_ I mouthed.

The Doctor nodded, riveted to something just over my shoulder.

Three.

Two.

One.

Instantly we sprang into action. The Doctor grabbed my hand and ripped off the glove. His thoughts tumbled into mine and he spun me around.

Nonononno. I was not doing this. Not again. That was _not _the plan! "You're going to need the support." He blurted quickly. I began to protest- trying to wrestle my hand from his, but then I saw the street.

It was gone. The street was _gone_. Instead there was nothing but a white wall of _fog_. Terror seized me and I backpedaled, mentally and physically spewing curses into the now frigid air, but the Doctor's hold on my hand increased and his mental scream was enough to halt me.

_FORWARD! NOW._

_What?! Are you crazy? It's going to kill us!_

Too late. The Doctor pulled me into the fog, much stronger that he appeared. Instantly we were swamped in the cloud. It felt like diving into a deep pond in the middle of the winter. My breath left me and all sound from the outside world ceased to exist. Pounding against the asphalt, I tried to focus of the rhythm of my steps, but more prevalent were the voices, like ghosts, screaming in my ears, pulling at my skin, muscles, and bones. It wanted me. All of me. My mind went haywire and I nearly stumbled, but the Doctor heaved me to my feet. He shouted, but I couldn't hear him.

_We're almost there! Just a bit farther!_

_It HURTS, so BAD!_

_Don't think about it, Sherlock. Focus on my voice. Keep running._

My ankle twisted on the curb and I tumbled to the floor, but the Doctor was right there, pulling me up.

_Don't stop! Focus! Almost there! Don't stop!_

My feet slammed against the floor once more and twenty feet never felt like such a long way. My chest hurt and the fog's claws latched themselves into my skin.

Like a fish on a line, I was yanked back, the fog's mental hooks too deep in my mind. Why was I running again? The fog wasn't so bad. It was actually sort of peaceful… My hand fell away from the Doctor's and I stood still as stone. As ice.

Then I saw him. At first I thought it was the Doctor, but it wasn't. He stood there in the fog, his head cocked slightly to the side, a small smile playing his lips. His black hair was stuck to his hair with sweat and dirt. No, that wasn't dirt. Blood.

"It's not so bad, being dead, Sherlock." He murmured, almost childlike, "Nobody ever bothers you."

My chest heaved, and my heart slammed against my ribs. "You're not real." I croaked, pointing a shaking finger, "I'm hallucinating."

Moriarty gave me a large grin. "The Doctor will cry," he said, "Mrs. Hudson will cry, John will cry buckets and buckets," Sticking out a lip, he turned in small circles aimlessly.

No. I didn't want to die like this. There was no way I could come back after having my atoms scattering through the air.

No way to cheat death this time.

And no way to stop the hooks in my mind that were slowly becoming more and more painful. I screamed, falling to my knees.

Good grief, I'd make a horrid statue in this position. The thought almost made me laugh. Why on earth did I even care?! The hooks pulled at my hands, my fingers, my heart. I was dying.

And then suddenly I felt the Doctor's hands around my head. He was screaming, shouting into the fog, but he spoke Yiddish for all I know. Then slowly, the pain in my head receded. Moriarty gave me a wink before disappearing.

And suddenly I was leaning against the TARDIS, unsure how I got there.

"Quick!" The Doctor shouted, shoving me into the time machine. With resolution, he slammed the door shut and cut off the tendrils of fog trying to follow us into the TARDIS. Letting go of me, I slumped to the floor, and instantly John was at my side. He must have followed us in. "Bloody- _Sherlock_! You idiot! What were you thinking!?"

"Oh shut up for a minute, will you?" I croaked from the floor. My breath came in gasps, but it slowed as I recovered. "I almost just _died_."

"Very nearly," the Doctor muttered, arms crossed. He stared at me with a mix of fascination, anger and relief. Reaching down a hand, he pulled me to my feet. When I stood without swaying his shock grew. "Sherlock, you should be unconscious. If I hadn't found you right then, you would have died. I only just managed to drag you out."

I blinked. "Well, I'm not unconscious. Good thing too. Now we know what's turning

people into ice." I brushed away my friends' worrying hands and paced around the dashboard.

The Doctor frowned, but did not press the issue, instead he rolled his eyes. "Seriously? _Now_ you believe my theory."

I stopped, coughed, and turned toward the Time Lord. Ugh. Did I really have to do this?

Debating, I sighed inwardly. Here is goes…

"I believe... an apology is in order." John's eyebrows rose and I pretended not to notice. Bloody idiot. "I'm… sorry," I said, "I did not believe you." Jeez. The words felt like massive stones shoved up my throat. "Thank... you... for saving me."

I don't think there were two more shocked individuals in the history of the universe. And I've come back to life.

The Doctor gave me a gentle smile. "Sure thing." He pulled out his screwdriver. "Now, we've got killer fog to catch."

"Killer fog?" John scoffed, "That's horrible."

"Oi! It's a work in progress!"

I rolled my eyes, pretending to be annoyed but inwardly grateful that the Doctor changed the subject. "I still need to get a DNA sample." I interrupted, heading toward the door.

John coughed. "Are you kidding? We can't go out there again, you two almost died!"

"The key word right there is _almost_, Watson."

The Doctor scurried up to me and placed at hand on my shoulder. I was grateful he intentionally kept from touching my skin. "If we're going to do this, Sherlock. We can't just rush out there. We need a plan."

I thought about that for a moment and then nodded. "Alright... What do you have in mind?"

"Have you ever caught a cloud in a jar?"

* * *

_**AN: Apologies for the late update. BUT ITS **_**REALLY**_**LONG! So I hope that sorta makes up for it :D I had a seriously hard time getting through this chapter and I still don't like it so much. Sorry if it's not the best :-/ Anywho, Please REVIEW! We finally get a good glimpse at my mysterious villain! Wadaya think? On a side note, are you guys excited for the Doctor Who season 8 finale? I'm utterly baffled by the little snippit they gave us at the end of the this last episode... :DD**_


	14. John the Popsicle

_**AN: This chapter was obviously massive. So I was wondering, those of you who read my other stories, can you find my reference to one of them? It was small;) tell me if you do:) Good luck! I also have several Doctor Who quotes and little references scattered through out this whole story, if you didn't notice. Maybe you can find them?**_

Chapter 14

I blinked. Did he just say what I thought he said? My mind whirled_. _

_What does he mean by that? _

_He means to capture living fog in a jar, obviously._

_Jeeze. No. That's bound to fail._

_Actually, that has a 95% chance of failure. _

_No, no. 98% chance of failure. _

_Is it even possible? _

_Can you capture a cloud in a jar? _

_Of course not._

_Ridiculous._

Then it occurred to me.

_Unless..._

Words were already brewing on John's lips but I shoved my finger onto them before he spoke. "Shut up."

"Wha-? Why?" John asked, swatting my finger away.

"I _said_, shut up."

"But I didn't say anything!" He cried.

My glare probably could have fried an egg.

"Right." John sniffed, scratching his neck. "Shutting up now."

"Good." _Finally_. There was absolute silence for half a moment before the Doctor coughed to get my attention. I rolled my eyes. "What?" I spat. Couldn't they see I was trying to think?

"Does that, 'shut up' include me?"

I sighed. "Just assume it _always _includes you."

For a moment the Doctor thought about that, then he shrugging and raced away. "Well, I never listen anyway."

"I thought you'd say that."

The Doctor didn't reply, too busy tugging a metal trunk from underneath the console. He heaved and it came loose from its place. Curious, I stepped forward, hands in pockets, and watched him dig through a conglomeration of junk within it. "Souvenirs?" I murmured. It was obvious. To me, that is.

He didn't bother looking up. "Yup. Intergalactic souvenirs I've picked up over the last two hundred years." He huffed in annoyance and threw behind him a rubber duck, three pencils, a floating black orb and seven… were those lightsabers?

John followed us up the stairs, hugging a tan jacket to himself. He frowned at the trunk. "Bit… small for two hundred years worth."

"Bigger on the inside."

"Oh."

The Doctor was taking too long. My feet itched to rush outside again and I found myself hoping lightly on my toes. Glancing at me, John rolled his eyes. "You alright, Sherlock?"

"Humm?" I turned toward him, with a tight-lipped smile and raised eyebrows. "For a Time Lord, he does take an awful long _time _to find his rubbish, doesn't he?"

"Excuse me! It's not rubbish!" the Doctor argued. His arm was buried inside the trunk up to the shoulder and he grimaced the deeper he reached. "I have it somewhere…" Suddenly the Time Lord's eyes lit up. He grinning and tugged his arm out of the trunk. "Behold!" he cried, smiling like an idiot. He held up his prize for us to see. "A… jar!"

I blinked. "That doesn't help us. You can't catch fog in a jar."

I didn't mention it, but I'd tried. It's my goal to keep it under wraps, but I was a child once, just like everyone else.

_Seven years old and fascinated, I picked up a Mason jar and raced outside. It would be great to experiment on, but only if I could put it in a controlled environment. A jar was perfect._

" _What are you doing, Sherlock?"_

_Mycroft leaned against the doorframe, watching me. _

_I just needed to regulate the temperature, humidity, lighting…. I didn't want it condensing into water droplets. That would be rubbish. _

_Mycroft's eyebrow was quirked in amusement and he just shook his head as I raced around the yard,attempting to capture the fog. It was a stubborn thing. Mycroft always wore a self-satisfied smirk, like he knew something and wasn't going to tell me. I hated that smirk. _

"_What's it look like I'm doing?" I spat._

"_Oh the usual," he replied, yawning, "being an idiot."_

Mycroft still teased me about that. I'm pretty sure he kept a file box of memories he could taunt me with.

Shaking away the memory, I looked the Doctor up and down. "Explain."

He cringed and I wasn't sure why. Then a smile prevailed over his whole face and he shook the jar a few times. It proceeded to do nothing remarkable. the lid was plain and metallic with an air-suction lock. "Alright, so I visited this planet once." he said, breathlessly excited. "It was called… Nu-Moonis, I think- just off the edge of the Hunmurdersitine Galaxy and lemme tell you, those androids could dance!"

"The point, Doctor," I muttered, "Quickly, if you can."

"Right. So they're known for their remarkable prisons, the people of Nu-Moonis, I mean. All the prisons are made of glass- well, not glass. It just looks like glass." He hopped to his feet and rubbed the glass thoughtfully. "I saved the king from an… unfortunate situation. Anyway, he gave me this in return; said it could hold any living thing in all the seven universes..." Meeting my gaze he shrugged. "Gas-form creatures included."

John shook his head slowly, eyes wide. I think he was impressed. "So it's not just a jar."

And for the first time, I saw the Time Lord show something close to sarcasme. "No, John. I thought we'd just conquered a vicious creature with my recycled jam jar."

Suppressing a smile, I opened my hand for the jar and he handed it over. I looked it up and down.

_Fingerprints on the glass. The Doctor's._

_Odd bluish gleam…_

_Must be what keeps the prisoners inside…_

"Why give you this?" I said, curious. "What's the point?"

"Of a prison jar?" the Doctor asked, already hurrying toward the door. "Well, I never thought I'd use it but you never know. Besides, a… _friend _of mine was making a ruckus and I thought it would be a good place to put him if I ever managed to catch up to the man."

John's eyebrows rose and we followed him to the TARDIS' door. "A friend, you say?"

"Well," he conceded, "An enemy. But we used to be quite close..."

I blinked.

"_I just met a friend of yours, Sherlock," John said, standing by the door. He leaned heavily on his cane and worry puckered his brow._

_Surprise filtered through me and I sat up."A friend?"_

"_Well, an enemy."_

"_Oh!" I nodded. "Which one?"_

Nodding in understanding, I handed the Doctor back the jar and cocked my head. "You didn't catch up."

"Oh no," the Doctor replied, cupping his hands around his eyes so he could look out the dark windows. "I did but then… he died."

"Unfortunate."

"Yes… it was." Suddenly the Doctor swiveled around, giving them a sad smile. However, he quickly pasted his normal breathless expression on top to hide it. "But let's not worry about it!" He clapped his hands, "no time to dwell on the past."

Nodding briskly, John moved to open the door, but I stopped him with a hand. "No, John. I nearly got you killed today. Let's not press our luck."

I wasn't eager to repeat the action.

"Don't give me that!" John argued. Shrugging me away, he attempted to open the door, but this time the Doctor blocked his path. "Sherlock's right, John. You're destined to die unless we can change the future. Dangling you in front of the enemy will just make that reality come faster."

"It's logical. Just stay inside, John. Do you understand?"  
"What?" John spat, "Understand? I don't understand any of this! One moment we were living normal lives-"

"Semi-normal." I interrupted.

John just shook his head and turned to the Doctor. "And now you're here with your crazy ship and alien contraptions! There's living fog outside the front door and Sherlock is- is, I don't even know _what _he is!"

I exhaled dramatically. It was easier to pretend that his words hadn't stabbed me; worlds easier to act like I knew exactly what I was doing. "Are you done?"

"I-"

"Good." I interrupted, pushing him out of the way. "Sit tight while we save you."

"Daggonit, Sherlock Holmes! Get back here!"

But I was already outside, the Doctor close behind me.

"He's going to kill you for that later," he murmured.

"I know. We've got bigger problems at the moment."

And we did.

The moment we stepped outside, the fog shied away from us, reluctant. The Doctor seemed to have given it a mighty shove when pulling me out of its grasp. Above us the stars winked, silent observers of man's misfortune. To think, somewhere out there was the Doctor's birth place.

Not anywhere the Doctor could go, of course, but still there. There was a memory, hidden in the depths of the Time Lord's mind that had flashed through my head as they ran through the fog and only now did I recalled it.

The Doctor didn't remember what he'd actually done during the Time War. Yes, the Time War. I knew about that too now. He thought he'd done the unspeakable, the incomprehensible. I pitied the man. It was not possible to tell him what had really come to pass that fateful day. He'd find out for himself soon enough anyhow, probably.

The fog was thick, like rotten milk as it swirled around us, afraid to strike but too stubborn to leave. My foot fell into a puddle of water and it froze as the temperature around us fell. "Doctor?"

"Here." The Time Lord stepped up next to the detective and the faintest glimmer of a smile lit his lips. "Ready?"

"Are you?"

The smile grew into a grin and he turned to the fog directly. "Excuse me!" he shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth and tossing me the jar. I caught it without looking away from the fog and slipped the thing into my pocket. The jar was about as tall as my hand from wrist to fingertip, so it fit easily.

"Sorry to bother you!" the Time Lord shouted again, and to my surprize, the fog cringed, drawing back and then slowly slipping forward once more. He smiled at it, bouncing on his heels, hands clasped behind his back. "I know you're very eager to devour us, but if you would wait a bit..."  
I snorted and the fog weaved through my fingers, as if it was teasing me. Snatching my hand back, I stuck it in my pocket and scowled. The Doctor had better finish with his diplomatic part of his… plan, if you could call it a plan. I was getting impatient.

"So, the question is why? Why are you stealing people's bodies and souls?" the Doctor continued, "Answer: I have no idea. But you do. And I'd like to know before you kill us, ya know, dead man's final wish? That sort of thing?" He paused and the fog did nothing. "Well, I'll take that as a yes. Who you're working for, if you are working for someone, and what on _Gallifrey _are you stealing people's bodies for?"

The fog was silent. Typical. Boring.

"HELLO!" the Doctor shouted again, "I am _talking_! I assume you want a taste of me, which is unfortunate, but I can accommodate if you'll answer my questions! You _might _want to listen!"

A rumble, like thunder flew through the fog, vibrating me to my core. Instantly the Doctor whipped around, concern clear on his face. "Was that a good sound or a bad one?"

"Not sure." I moved so that I stood at his right. "Last time I checked, speaking 'fog' is outside my capabilities."

Rolling his eyes, the Doctor spared me a glare. "Now is really not the time for sarcasm."

"Really? It's probably going to kill us in any second. I should be allowed a bit of sarcasm."

Suddenly the fog condensed even further, taking on a bluish tint and wrapping around us so that even the asphalt under my feet was unseen. We flinched drawing closer together so that our backs pressed against each other. Beating quickly, I wasn't sure if the Doctor's heartbeat was fast because of his double heart beat, or if it was fear speeding it up. Probably both. Mine was beating out a samba in my chest, but I gave no outward sign of fear.

The fog folded in on itself, pulling inward until out of it formed a wispy looking man with eyes that glowed blue and fingers that stretched into long strands of cotton like fog. "_We need… life_," it whispered. "_Master can not live on water alone. He desires a physical body and soul_."  
"So you're giving it to him?" The Doctor answered with a quick nod. "By killing those who have physical forms and taking what you need, which is everything except water."

"_Yesss…_"

"Wow! I was spot on, Sherlock!"

"Don't gloat, Doctor. It's unbecoming."

"You're one to talk."

"Are you implying something?"

"Absolutely."  
"_You're time isss up…_" the waph of a man hissed. I saw it coming, but the thing was too fast. Without warning he thrust his hand out and stuck it into the Doctor's chest.

Screaming in pain, the Doctor fell to his knees and clawed at the place where the fog had gone past his skin, but it was lodged firmly inside him. Instantly I bent down and grabbed his shoulders. "Doctor!" I shouted, "Doctor, don't let it take you!"

The man was shivering, from cold or pain, I couldn't tell. "D-do it Sherlock," he stuttered, "Now."

Oh. Yes. Of course.

Standing as fast as lightning, I stuck my hand in my pocket and withdrew the jar. "I won't be able to get all of it!" I shouted. The fog whipped around us, rumbling deafeningly and swirling like a hurricane; drunk on the Doctor's soul as it slowly pulled it from the Time Lord's chest.

The Doctor screamed again, and collapsed onto his hands and knees. "FOR RASSILON'S SAKE, SHERLOCK! JUST _TAKE _YOUR TIME!" The fog tugged at the string it had in his chest once more and he cried out and was silent.

Opening the jar, I shoved it at the fog, but it was smart. It knew what I was doing and quickly shied away from me.

"COME ON!" I shouted. "Afraid? You really think a measly thing like me could hurt you while you're sucking on the _lifeblood _of a _Time Lord_?!"

Probably not the smartest thing to say.

It lunged at me and I dodged, swooping down. It barely missed me and it took several quick maneuvers to get myself far enough away that I could stretch my hand forward with the jar. The air was hard and brittle as it came into my nose, filling my lungs. I felt colder than I had in my entire life and it was bloody _June_. Jumping forward, I swiped down at the fog with the jar. However, this time the blasted thing swirled under my feet and I tripped. Falling hard, the jar flew from my fingers and rolled ten feet away so that it rested against the TARDIS. My hands hurt. I could feel rocks dug in my skin, but I ignored the pain. "No time." I muttered, "Never enough time…"

The Doctor. I needed to get the Doctor to safety.

But he would want me to get the jar first.

He was a Time Lord.

He could take care of himself for a moment.

Resolved, I struggled to my feet and stumbled forward. The fog tugged at my arms and legs, attempting to get a good hook on me. It would succeed any second now, I could feel it. This time the Doctor couldn't save me.

I was still a good five feet away when the TARDIS door flung open and John stepped out. His defiant glare sent a shiver through me. His eyes shined bright blue and his mouth was firm. His fists were clenched, and he could halve been a giant by the way he carried himself. John Watson was a good man who went to war and it had never been so obvious.

"JOHN!" I screamed, sudden terror flooding me. It would be my fault. All mine, all my stupid, idiotic, psychopathic fault if he died. "GET INSIDE!"

"YOU ARE AN IDIOT, SHERLOCK, IF YOU LIKE I'M GONNA STAY _BLOODY _PUT!" He picked up the jar and with a mighty swoop, caught some of the fog off guard and shoved the lid closed on top of it.

"QUICK!" He shouted. "Grab the Doctor!"

Flying to my feet, I didn't question the man. I spun toward the Doctor and wrapped my arms underneath his and began pulling the Time Lord back. But the fog didn't want to let go. The Doctor was already unconscious at this point but he screamed in pain when I tried to pull him to safety. The fog's hook in his mind was too strong. I needed to break it somehow.

_How?_

_No clue. Bit new at this._

_No time for that._

"JOHN!" I shouted over my shoulder. "Get back in the TARDIS!"

"NO!" the idiot shouted back. I heard his footsteps running toward us and cursed under my breath.

"You can't help, get the jar inside." I hesitated. "I'm going to… try something."

"Do it Sherlock. Whatever it is. Do it now!"

I wanted him to leave first, to get to safety, but I had less that ten seconds before the fog overwhelmed my own senses. "Fine," I spat. Crouching down, I tugging my gloves off with my teeth and placed my hands over the Doctor's temples. _Hopefully I'm strong enough_. I'd need to let down my own mental walls to get into his mind, which meant that the fog would be able to get in. Yet again, I had no idea where I learned about mental walls or anything of that sort. I just knew.

Shutting my eyes, I struggled to find the Doctor's consciousness beneath all the noise of the fog around me. It was pushing my thoughts, jostling them around and making a horrid mess of my mind palace. But no matter how hard I looked, I couldn't find him. The Doctor was buried deep inside himself to keep the fog from getting in. Unfortunately that meant also blocking everything else out.

I couldn't find him, not pressed for time as I was. I needed to free the fog from his mind so I could drag him to the TARDIS. The fog was too strong. It pushed rudely into my head and I couldn't concentrate. I'd lose consciousness if I left myself unattended any longer.

Exhaling, I opened my eyes and cringed at the Doctor's stricken expression. "This is going to hurt…" I muttered. I couldn't be gentle. The hooks in the Time Lord's mind were deep, and it would be excruciating to pull him away.

_No other options._

Repositioning myself, I began to drag the Doctor across the asphalt, trying not to flinch when he screamed and struggled. I had no other options. I either did this, or left him to become a pretty piece of lifeless, melting art.

Finally we reached the TARDIS and the doors flung open to greet us. Relief flowed through me and I stumbled inside, instantly feeling the TARDIS' healing effects on my tired mind.

Slammed the door shut, I heaved a great breath. "Never doing that again," I murmured.

The Doctor was still unconscious, folded up on the glass floor of his time machine, and I supposed he would stay that way for a while. However, he suddenly took a deep breath and sat up. He flinched at the movement and rubbed his temples. "That was… not pleasant," he murmured.

Good. He was alright. Wherever he hid himself, it was apparently a very good hiding spot.

But something was missing. Someone- fear hitched my heart and I realized. I jumped to my feet, even though exhaustion caused me to sway. "John!" I breathed, eyes wide

"What?"

"Bloody- he's still out there!" Instantly flinging open the TARDIS doors, I dove back into the white mass. "JOHN! John, where are you?!" Had it had gotten to him? My heart thumped within me and even though it was freezing, beads of sweat appeared on my forehead. At any second I'd run into a beautiful ice rendition of the only friend I'd ever had. And it was going to kill me.

I was about to shout again when I saw him. He was running toward me, the jar under him arm. Alive. He was alive. I could hardly believe it!  
"JOHN!" Now I let relief trickle into my voice and I waved him toward the TARDIS. "Get inside!"

Nodding, he was about to each me when the fog suddenly condensed into a human-like form once more. Right in front of John. He cried out in shock, stumbling backwards so that he fell against the alleyway wall.

A million thoughts flashed through my head in that instant, but none of them did anything to help him. I raced forward, his name on my lips.

But the wraith flung forward and plunged its fist into John's heart. Instantly the man went rigid and the color faded from his body, into the fog.

He wasn't a Time Lord.

He wasn't me.

He was just a man, the best man I've ever met.

I screamed, I think, at the statue that was left. His face stared at me with something akin to confusion and sadness, like John hadn't expected it to really end. I screamed and screamed, and for some reason, the fog pulled back. Shocks of something, lightning, I think, lit the dark alley, but I didn't know where it came from. Everything was smeared. I couldn't see clearly, but I could hear the fog screaming. In pain? Not sure. The fog fled from me.

It was over. I had failed. John was dead.

Anger, fury mor like, filled me and I slipped to my knees and screamed louder than I ever had before.

And then I felt something click. Inside of me? I wasn't sure. Suddenly the world began to rewind. It was like a movie. I watched, astonished, as the color flew back into John's face and his body fill with breath once more. My steps fell backwards, reversed, and my coat flapped behind me in non-existent wind. I was still screaming, but no sound reached my ears.

Suddenly I was standing where I had stood ten seconds ago. John raced forward a relieved grin on his face and the jar under his arm. The wraith formed, just as before, but this time instead of plunging its hand into John's chest, something flew into John and knocked him to the floor before it could. I saw a flash of black and the flap of a coat, but then the wall seemed to fold inward on John and the black was a flash and both John and the man, I assumed it was a man, had disappeared.

An odd sense of relief mixed with panic filled me and I spun away from the advancing fog and flew into the TARDIS...

And was just in time to see a flash of light as John tumbled into the room. His eyes were wide and he was shivering immensely, but he seemed otherwise intact. Flashes of the scene I'd witnessed a moment before came to the fore front of my mind and I was instantly dizzy. "John," I breathed before falling to my knees. Something was wrong in my head, I could feel it. Two memories of the same scene were lodged in my mind.

A word lit my lips. "Wrong," I whispered. One events can't happen in two ways. It doesn't work. I knew that.

Above me the Doctor's face rested. I couldn't see clearly, but John was nearby too. They were shouting at each other. I couldn't hear their words..

However, I _did _feel the Doctors fingers on my forehead.

_It's alright, Sherlock. It's just the paradox… well, I say 'just'. It's the first time it's happened to you. Always a bit sickening the first time. Just wait a minute. I've got something that will balance out the effects. You've got like, at least two paradoxes going on at the moment, so it's necessary._

_Hurry, Doctor. And… paradox? How so?_

_Being in the same place as your future self, for one, not to mention changing your personal timeline. Nasty stuff..._

_Daggon, it hurts._

_I'm sorry, I know._

His fingers disappeared from my forehead and instantly the weight of the paradox began to pound on me all the more. It seemed to last forever, but finally I felt the Doctor place something around my neck.

Instantly the pain stopped.

I blinked open my eyes and stared into the Time Lords. "What did you do?"

He grinned because he knew he'd just done something brilliant. "I did this." He picked up something off my chest. It was an emblem of some sort, or maybe a silver coin and it hung around my neck by a silver chain.

"It blocks the effects of a paradox, I'm assuming."

"Exactly." The Doctor said. He stood up and pulled me to my feet, keeping his hand firmly on my wrist so I didn't need to touch his skin. My gloves had disappeared somewhere during my haste. Everything wobbled around me and I closed my eyes for a moment to steady myself. Didn't he say something about paradoxes?

"I had to use a one of those things a while back." the Doctor said, messing with the coin for a moment before letting it drop onto my chest. "Messed up my timeline big time. It was a non-stop part of my apparel until the paradox worked itself out…" The Doctor continued speaking, but I drowned him out and turned to look for John. "John is-?"

"Over there," the Doctor pointed around the console, to a spot he couldn't see. When I moved to look, he placed a hand on my shoulder. "Just wait a minute. He's fine. I assure you. Now, we need to talk about-"  
"Doctor!" John interrupted from around the corner, sounding panicked. "He- he's not breathing!"

"Well _you're _the doctor, John! Fix it!"

"I-" Suddenly John fell silent. "No, no. I- No. Doctor… I think he's dead."  
I frowned. _Who's dead?_

Instantly the Doctor's face lost its color and he rushed away, but not before placing a firm hand on my chest. Who else was in the TARDIS? "Stay," he said. The power in that single word made me stumbled back and for the moment, I obeyed. Nodding, the Doctor raced off, his footsteps ringing on the glass.

Then I shook myself out of whatever he'd done to me and stepped forward. I was _not _a dog. No one told me to _stay_.

However, when I rounded the corner, I almost wished I'd listened. My stomach dropped to my feet and the coin around my neck hummed, working to keep the paradox at bay.

I stood staring at the man on the floor. He was beaten, blood on his lips and a cut above his eye. His hair was soaked and his shirt torn.

And he was me.

I stood staring at him, and at the same time, I was also on the floor… dead. The shock jolted me, but I didn't let it show outside of standing totally still. I could travel through time and space now. It made sense that I could run across myself.

_It doesn't make sense. Ever._

_Oh please, its time travel._

_That's not the point. There's a bigger problem than that._

_Like the fact that I'm not alive. _

Shaking myself out of my stupor, I stepped forward and crouched down next to the fallen man. Me.

How strange. "I've never seen it from the outside," I murmured, looking him up and down.

John looked just slightly shell shocked, but seeing me standing there, alive, I think relaxed him a bit. "Well yeah," he croaked, "no one does." I let myself look at John for a moment; let myself feel relief that he was safe before bottling it up again. I didn't know quite how I managed it, but I had just altered his destiny.

"I have," the Doctor piped unhelpfully, "Seen myself, I mean. Course, usually I'm a bit less... dead."

"That's a nice way to put it," John spat.

I turned away and tried not to take any notice of either of them. It wasn't hard and I was soon busy trying to deduce how, erm, how _I _died. "Fascinating," I whispered, "He- um, I seem to have been electrocuted. Probably conducted through water. Humm, not the best way to go, but then again, neither is a nasty fall..."

No one spoke for several seconds and I was finally obliged to look up. "What?"

John was staring at me in shock and the Doctor in curiosity. If I was correct, which I always am, then the Doctor would have reacted in a similar way upon seeing his dead self.

"Sherlock?" John spoke, "that's- that's _you_."

I raised my eyebrows in mock shock. "_Brilliant_ deduction, John. I got that bit."

"But- you're dead."

"Yup. Got that part too."

John shifted nervously and I slowly stood. The man bit his lip and actively avoided looking at the dead-me. Funny. For a doctor, he was having an unusually hard time. He never acted like this around corpses.

_Can't imagine why he's all _weird _now…_

"And- you carried me through this… place." John continued, frowning, "It was a tunnel. It was all light and-"

I nodded. "I figured that's what happened." _I must have teleported with him. Didn't know that was possible._"You see, I now have two memories in my head of the same scene. One where you're a popsicle, and one where future me saves you."

John frowned. "How's that possible? You can't remember two-"

"It's not possible," I interrupted, "But I do." Exhaling, I rolled my eyes to the ceiling and shook my head. "I saved your life, or _will_, at least, and all I get in return is a splitting headache and this _thing_." I lifted up the coin that was currently saving my life and flashed my friend a small smile. Taking a deep breath, I closed my eyes and then opened them again. "Now. Doctor, do you know how far in the future he's from?" I pointed at dead-me and the Doctor shrugged.

"Unless you left a message of some sort… which is-" he suddenly jumped forward and took hold of dead-me's left hand. Obviously he'd been hit by an idea. "Alright Sherlock, Do you have a notebook and a pen with you?"

"In my pocket," I replied,

"Good," the Doctor nodded. "When you're about to die, I need you to tell us how far in the future you are."

I nodded in understanding and buried the message deep in my mind. I wouldn't forget it.

John's mouth was open in protest. "You're going to die again. You can't change it? You saved me? Why not you?"

"He can't," the Doctor spoke, slowly uncurling my hand, "because he already created a paradox by keeping you alive. There's a certain balance to these things. One life for another…"

"But that's not fair!" John cried.

"I didn't say it was fair, John. It's reality."

"Then _forget _reality. It's rubbish anyhow!"

I sighed inwardly. "John, it's flattering that you feel so strongly, but the Doctor's right. I'm going to die."

"But you'll come back to life, right?"

I shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. It's not probable," Leaning down, I inspected my pale face, "The probability of coming back to life _once _is ridiculous on its own. Twice? Impossible."

"Not much time," the Doctor spoke soberly. He held up a bit of my notebook paper taken from my hand. It was crumpled and wet. The ink bled into the paper, but the two numbers were still easily seen, written hastily with a red pen.

You've got 24 hrs. And Doctor? Have me do the thing.

-S.H.

"Twenty-four hours to live, gentlemen," I spoke, spinning away. _Do what thing?_ I wondered. No time to mourn my impending demise. We had a criminal to stop, and I was _not _about to die before solving this last mystery. One last case. "I suggest we get to work. Doctor?"

"Yeah?"

"What 'thing' am I referring to?"

The Doctor took a moment to respond. "You know when I mentioned meeting the future version of you?"

**_AN: Sorry about the wait. _**

**_Oh no, Sherlock! Not dead _****again****_!_**

**_ PLEASE REVIEW! Did you find any references?_**


	15. Slipping Through Time

_**AN: Heh. **_ _**'Hides behind laptop' **_ _**I know it's been a long time. Very sorry! Please enjoy this piece of ridiculousness.**_

Chapter Fifteen

"Wait," John said, frowning, "You," He pointed at the Doctor. "Met the future _him_," Now his finger stabbed Sherlock. "And _nobody _thought to tell me?"

"Must have slipped my mind…"  
He threw his hands in the air. "_Why_ does this always happen to m-!"

"Not now, John," the Doctor interrupted. He was grinning, probably more than he should have, given that I was dead. Or _would be_ dead. Or _had _died.

Blimey, tenses.

"Right," The Doctor rubbed his hands together in anticipation and addressed me. "To avoid more paradoxes, its best if you do it before you die… You know, just in case you don't, erm, you don't…" He trailed off awkwardly, John's stare burning a hole in the back of his head.

"In case I don't come back to life?" I finished.

The Doctor scratched his neck awkwardly and nodded. "Yes. That." Visibly shoving the thought aside, he gave me a sad smile before brightening up again. "I always love these timey-wimey bits."

Time Lord. More like _Delay _Lord.

"Get to the point. What am I supposed to do?"

"I need you," the Doctor said slowly, deliberately. A smile was still playing on his lips. "To teleport into a past version of my TARDIS."

I snorted. "How the heck am I supposed to do that?"

"Notta clue."

"Fantastic."

Now his smirk blew into a grin. "I hoped you'd say that!"

"Sarcasm, Doctor."

He didn't appear to hear me, instead searching through his pockets. Finally the Time Lord pulled out his sonic and extended a hand. "Your phone."

Reluctantly I gave it to him and he scanned it quickly with his screwdriver. Handing it back, he quickly opened up the screen on the TARDIS console. "I've just given you universal roaming. Use it wisely."

Rolling my eyes, I nodded appreciatively at the four bars my IPhone soared up to. Universal wifi. Neat. One less thing to worry about.

"I'll text you the general things I remember you said and what you shouldn't do." He tapped rapidly on a typewriter that apparently served for a keyboard and finally nodded, satisfied.

I sighed. "Do I have to do this?"

"Yes," the Doctor answered, shooing me. "Now go. Do your space thingy."

"It's not a 'space thingy'."

"I highly doubt-"

Suddenly John stepped forward and blocked my view of the Doctor. "Sherlock," he barked, "You've got twenty-four hours. Let's not waste them arguing, okay?"

A part of me wanted to argue with him on that point. Just to infuriate him. But I didn't. He had this look in his eyes that I rarely saw. It was a mix of awe and concern and… fear.

What was he afraid of?

I shoved the thought away as soon as the answer surfaced and gave him a tight, pursed smile. "You're right, John, for once." I took a deep breath and clapped my hands together. "Now... for the space thing…"

It was easier to find the spark of light inside my mind every time I searched for it, and it hardly took me more than a moment. Careful not to get too close, I told it where I needed to go and snapped my eyes open.

John and the Doctor both looked at me with interest and I winced when a stab of pain pierced my skull. The pain made me lose my concentration and I cursed under my breath. This was going to be harder than I thought…

"Come on, Sherlock." John whispered, "Do it."

Shutting my eyes again, I hardened my resolve. If John thought I could do it, than I would. I concentrated until I felt the world fall away around me. Exalted, I opened my eyes but this time I wasn't rewarded by the sight of the Time winds rushing around me, which I'd come to enjoy more and more.

I was still in the TARDIS, but everything was muted, the air thick and the edges blurry. Glancing down at my hands, I realized to my shock that I could see the stairs beneath me. _Not quite here…_

A quick scan revealed the Doctor sitting dejectedly near the center console. Somehow I knew that this Doctor was from the past. I didn't try to understand how I knew. Slowly I took a step forward and another, but I could still feel myself tied to the TARDIS in the present and I couldn't quite leave it behind.

After what felt like an eternity, I managed to come up behind the Doctor. I laid a hand on his shoulder, concentrating fiercely so that he felt me.

Instantly the Time Lord went rigid and jumped to his feet. He spun around and fell backwards against the controls and basically was totally distracting. I felt myself slipping and as soon as he opened his mouth I held up a finger. ""Shh- no. Don't say anything. This is a lot harder to do when in motion."

"_Hard_?" He squeaked. The poor man was absolutely baffled. It was nice to see him as the confused one instead of myself. "It's blooming _impossible_!"

Closing my eyes for a moment, I broke the last strings tying me to the present and exhaled as everything zoomed into sharp reality. I stumbled slightly and steadied myself with the stair railing. "Impossible, Doctor?" I murmured, rather enjoying this now. "I beg to differ."

We conversed for a bit, or rather, the Doctor ran about shouting, trying to make sense of me. I let him babble on for a while, but quickly lost interest when my phone buzzed in my pocket.

Withdrawing it, I saw a text from the Doctor. The present Doctor.

_You can't tell him how you got in the TARDIS_

That was simple enough.

"Look-!" The Doctor cried, gesturing at the screen on the console. "See- _See_? I even have the shields up!"

"Hmm," I murmured, not really listening. "I can't really tell you how I got here."

"Says _who_?" he argued.

I shrugged and nodded toward the phone. "Says _you_." My phone buzzed again and I glanced down.

_And you wouldn't let me scan you _

Understanding dawned on the Time Lord's face followed by interest. "Future me. Interesting…" He pulled his sonic from his pocket and stepped forward to scan me. Still looking at my phone, I held a hand up. "No. You can't do that either."

The Doctor protested, I think, but I didn't really listen. He tried to scan me again, but this time impulsively, I tapped the tip of his screwdriver lightly with my finger. Instantly I felt a surge of power fly through me and into the screwdriver. It sparked and the Doctor dropped it in shock. Quickly it rolled over the side of the glass floor and disappeared into the mess of the TARDIS' cords. _So that's why the Doctor blamed me for losing his sonic…_

Mildly interested, I inspected my fingers, where the surge of… it felt like electricity, but I couldn't be sure, had come from. "That's new," I murmured, "Should have tried that ages ago…"

Apparently the strings tying me to the present were rebuilding, because I felt them tug me back to my proper time. "I don't really have time to chat," I said quickly. Any second now… "I'm not sure how long I can stay," My vision blurred for a moment and refocused and I glanced down at my phone to see a new message from the Doctor. "The Doctor says to tell you-"

And all at once the Doctor and the TARDIS disappeared, replaced instantly by the TARDIS and the time that I knew. John sat on the floor, glumly munching on an apple and the Doctor wrote rapidly on a napkin. Apparently I'd been gone for quite awhile because the moment I appeared, they both jumped to their feet.

The Doctor raced toward me, grinning. "Right. I know you didn't get the message out yet. You've got to go back."

Nodding, I shot John a look to let him know that I was alright.

The second time was simple. I thought about my task and instantly found myself in the past, behind the Doctor. I stumbled, caught myself, and spoke instantly.

"Sorry, bad connection." I believe I began to babble a bit, but the Doctor stopped me, which was good, I suppose.

"You have a message," he interrupted.

"Yes, right." I nodded, glancing at my phone again. My stomach wasn't enjoying this rapid traveling and I doubted it could take much more. "You need to tell Mycroft to let his brother out of the morgue."

I blinked, realizing what I'd just said.

So _that's _how Mycroft knew where to go… Time travel was a fascinating business.

I fell into the present again, realizing the instant I settled that I wasn't finished. "Good grief, this is killing me." I rolled my eyes as the Doctor raced up to me. "Oh wait," My voice was tinged with sarcasm. "I'm already dead. Twice."

"Optimism, Sherlock," the Doctor answered... infuriatingly. He shoved a paper in my hand. "Give this to him. Coordinates. "

Nodding, I took a deep breath and raced back into the past. "Coordinates!" I cried, half running, half stumbling. On the page was a complicated drawing full of circles and lines and random rubbish I didn't understand in the least.

The Doctor started, snatched the paper from me and read it quickly. "This is my handwriting."

I rolled my eyes. "Obviously." Slipping, I tumbled into the present and didn't bother saying anything to the Doctor or John. The Doctor shoved his screwdriver into my hand. "And this is for him."

I nodded and jumped quickly into the past. The past Doctor continued to stare at me with wide eyes. "You'll need this," I pushed the screwdriver into his hands and my stomach flipped uncomfortably.

Exhaustion made my eyelids drop, but I drug them up again as I tumbled into the present. "Please tell me we're done," I croaked, startled by the exhaustion in my own voice.

"Just once more, Sherlock," the Doctor murmured. He gave me a sad smile. "Tell me to give the screwdriver to Mycroft and have Mycroft put it in the front pocket of John's coat.

"Uh-hu. Whatever, Doc," I muttered, too tired to keep up my usual facade of untouchability. The TARDIS was replaced by the past TARDIS and I enjoyed making the past Doctor start and slam his head against an overhanging device. "Would you _stop _that?!" he cried, rubbing his injured head.

_I would if I could,_ I thought to myself. Quickly I relayed my message. I knew if I tried going back in time once more I'd end up very not good, although I wasn't sure what exactly that meant. Smirking at the baffled Time Lord, I spun on my heels and started toward the front door. It would be much easier this way…

"Hey!" the Doctor protested. "You can't go out there!"

I ignored him, barely keeping my eyes open, I was so exhausted. Shoving open the door, I shot him one last tight smile before I slipped a foot off the edge.

I jumped and left the Doctor to his frantic shouts. Instantly I was enveloped in familiar ice and fire and wind and spiraling complexity. It felt _so _good. Like bath water that's just a bit too warm, but pleasant all the same. Then again, it was more than that; it felt safe.

Giving myself a general direction and time, I let my eyes close. As I succumbed to sleep, the Time winds carried me gently, never faltering.

**_AN: So sorry about the delay. I lost a bunch of this chapter and had to rewrite:-/ Anyway, this chapter was a lot harder to write than I thought. I didn't want a complete repeat of chapter 3 because that would be boring so I hope I did an alright job creating some variety. Anyway, PLEASE REVIEW:)))_**


	16. Examining the Factors

Chapter Sixteen

I don't know how long I slept, but I swear it felt like centuries. When I finally drug myself into reality, I breathed deeply; calmly. I felt good. More than good; _brilliant_, better than I had in ages.

Actually, I couldn't remember the last time I felt this rested.

Snapping open my eyes, I sat up quickly. Where was I?

The apartment was obviously owned by a female. _Regularly watered flowers in the windowsill, dark purple curtains, fashion magazine, cat calendar..._

And it was completely unfamiliar. Slowly I stood and the couch creaked beneath me. A blanket was cast over my chest and my coat was bundled up like a pillow. Wincing at the sound the couch made, I glanced around worriedly.

The house was occupied. _Teapot on the stove…_

How long had I been here?

A sudden voice interrupted my thoughts. "Oh, you're up!" she said cheerily.

Spinning around, my eyes widened when I beheld a short, thin woman with piercingly intelligent eyes. I never forgot a face. Ever.

"Mary Morstan, was it?" I asked, even though I was certain.

She smiled lightly, pleased that I remembered. Her hands clasped behind her back. _Body language for insecurity…_ "Yes."

"Right," I glanced around her apartment, not quite sure what to say. "How did I get here?"

Mary chuckled and moved to take the teapot of the stove. Silencing its whistle, she poured the water into two cups. "Tea?"

I blinked. Obviously I didn't appear here without her knowledge. "Ah… yes, if you must."

Satisfied, she plopped a tea bag and two sugar cubes into the cup. Handing it to me, she leaned against the counter and sipped her own tea. _Four sugar cubes and cream_.

"I found you outside my doorsteps," she stated nonchalantly, as if having unconscious men outside was nothing unusual. "I brought you in here and you've been sleeping for…" She paused, thinking. "I think it's been nearly two days now."

I nodded quickly and took a sip of her tea. However, the moment the delicious liquid hit my lips, I froze.

Two days.

Coughing, I set the cup down suddenly. "_Two_ days?"

Concerned, Mary's eyebrows came together and she held her cup loosely. "Yes. Is that bad?"

I let a humourless laugh slip from my lips. "Oh, very bad. Well, good because I'm still alive, but bad because…" I trailed off uncertainly. Worriedly, I paced the floor. "The note said I had only twenty-fours left, why would it say that if I'm still alive now?"

Mary's eyes were wide. "Twenty-four hours? Are you in some sort of trouble?" She paused. "More than usual, I mean."

"Yes," I answered tersely.

_Why would I lie to myself?_

"I'm in worse trouble than you can possibly imagine, Mary Morstan…"

The woman was silent for a beat, but then she set her cup down and moved toward the door.

I watched her, confused. "What are you doing?"

"I assume you're going to need a ride back to Bakers street?"

"Well, I-"

"I'll drive you." She pulled on a light-colored coat, a pair of tennis shoes, and jingling her keys, waved me forward. "Let's go." Shooting me a smirk, Mary started toward the door.

Shocked, I stared after her. In a single movement, she'd made it impossible to leave her behind. I unfolded my coat and shrugged it over my shoulders, frowning.I didn't like being manipulated. Pulling on my shoes, I stumbled into the morning air after the woman.

Crisp. Cold. Not right for June.

She drove a small yellow bug. Yanking open the door, she jumped lightly into the driver's seat and motioned for me to get inside. I complied and settled into the dark leather passenger seat.

It did not go past my attention that her behavior was odd. Especially for a woman. Any woman with any sort of sense knew that it was probably not the safest idea to drive male strangers around, much less let them into their house.

Mary must be extremely confident... or an idiot.

Given the fact that she couldn't possibly be an idiot, I settled with confidence. Perhaps she had the ability to protect herself. She seemed to be in decently good shape.

Or maybe she trusted me.

Good grief, that was a horrifying thought.

"So…" Mary started. She pulled out of her driveway and sped down the busy London street. People bustled up and down the sidewalks, busy with their lives. "What exactly is going on?"

I snorted, settling back into the seat. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Good grief, _I _hardly believed me.

Shrugging, Mary honked at an obnoxious driver and continued down the street. "Try me."

Truth be told, I really shouldn't have. I shouldn't have said anything at all, but it's not like she would believe the truth anyway! Besides, I was starting to understand that coincidences were more than they seemed. I had run into her twice now at random. Perhaps she was important…

My next words rolled off my tongue in a long, continuous sentence.

"I am currently trying to foil the master plan of sentient fog that is turning people into ice for an unknown purpose. Recently I developed the ability to teleport through time and space and to read minds. Oh yes, and I also died. Twice. However, the second time hasn't happened yet, even though it should have."

Mary's eyebrows crumpled together in an almost imperceptible movement. It was like she was actually considering what I'd said. Then she snorted and rolled her eyes. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

Smirking, I turned to look out the window for the rest of the ride. I'd accomplished exactly what I wished without having to lie. It felt odd to condense my situation into a few sentences. Had all of that seriously happened?

My life sounded like a bad film from the eighties.

We pulled to a stop a street away from Baker street. Clever girl. For a moment, I wondered how she knew where I lived, but I brushed the thought away. The internet, probably.

"I figure that you don't want to be seen waltzing through your front door," she explained.

I cocked my head. "You've done this before."

"Nope." She popped the 'P' and unclipped her seatbelt. "I watch a lot of spy movies."

If I had taken the time to think about it, I wouldn't have believed her. But I was busy.

I slammed the car door and briskly began walking toward my flat, nodding at Mary and turning away in hope that she would get my message. _Thanks. Now go away._

Apparently something was lost in translation, because she hefted her purse higher on her shoulder and came after me. "Hey! I'm coming with you!"

"No you're not," I replied, not slowing, "I'm involved in a dangerous, secret situation that you can't be a part of."

She picked up her pace and I exhaled through my teeth. Women…

"What part of my last sentence did you not understand?"

"Oh, I understand you perfectly, Mr. Holmes," came her quick reply, "That's why I'm comin' along."

This was what, the _third_ time she'd managed to surprise me? Shaking my head, I hid my admiration thickly. Not many people surprised me and it fascinated me when someone did. Mary Morstan wasn't going anywhere.

Besides, was it really just coincidence that I ran into her twice? As Mycroft would say, the universe is rarely so lazy.

Especially my universe.

"Fine," I said curtly. I turned away. "But don't grin like that. It's annoying."

"Last time I checked," Mary answered, jogging up next to me. "You didn't have control of my face."

I rolled my eyes but kept my peace. We approached the alley behind 221B and I quickly entered it. It was dark inside and the shadows were cold.

Mary followed me without hesitation.

Interesting…

Running a hand lazily through my hair, I tried the doorknob. Locked, as usual. Not pausing, I knocked on the door rapidly. It took less than three seconds for me to pick up sounds of movement within.

They were expecting me. Good.

All at once, John swung open the door. He took one look at me and shook his head.

I didn't have time to dodge his fist and he hit me square in the jaw. It didn't hurt, but I stumbled back a step and hissed so that he'd feel like he'd done something. "I assume that's for something I haven't done yet."

"You," he pointed at me deliberately, scowling. "Are an egotistical, delusioned, selfish, _prat_!"

"I'm aware."

Satisfied, John nodded sharply and stepped aside so that I could enter. I didn't ask why he was so angry. I'd find out shortly anyhow. For the first time, he noticed Mary standing behind me, eyes wide. She gave him a shy wave when their eyes met.

John blinked. "Mary?"

What did I say? Coincidence is rubbish. I turned in the doorway and cocked my head at them. "You know her? Work, I assume?"

John nodded slowly. He didn't ask how I knew. I didn't try offer an explanation, mostly because I couldn't remember how I knew. Sometimes I deduced things without realizing I'd done it.

It was completely embarrassing when someone asked me and I had to fumble around, trying to remember the logical steps I must have subconsciously taken.

John frowned and sudden turned his gaze flicked toward me and back to Mary. "S'cuse us for a sec," he said to Mary. Mary nodded and John shut the door.

"What the heck, Sherlock? It's been two hours since you last disappeared and then the dead-you-"

"Don't tell me," I interrupted, "I don't want to know." Wait. He'd said two hours.

I must have landed slightly in the past in order to be asleep at Mary's house for two days. That meant that I still had at least twenty-one hours left!

John complied. "Fine. Why is she here?"

"I woke up in her house and haven't been about to shake her." I shrugged. "Besides, she's clever. Trustworthy too, I believe."

John was shocked. His eyes widened and he blinked deliberately. "Sherlock, you can't just let someone in on this… situation because you have a hunch."

"It's not a hunch. It's an examination of all the factors. And, yes, _I _can."

For a moment, I was sure John would continue to argue, but then he sighed and opened the door again. "Fine." Looking out, he waved Mary in. "Sorry about that."

I left them to their pleasantries and quickly ran up the stairs. We had fog to catch and twenty or so hours to do it before I suffered another extremely painful death.

Brilliant. I worked well under pressure.

**_AN: Sorry this isn't a very long chapter and not much happens. Don't worry, the next bit is gonna be wild! I hope you like Mary in this chapter:) Please leave a review!_**


	17. Hidden in Plain Sight

**_"Short version: Not dead." - Me and Sherlock_**

**_Enjoy another chapter:)_**

Chapter Seventeen

The Doctor grinned when I burst into the flat. The TARDIS, parked in the center of the living room, cast an odd, blue tint on everything. He peeked from behind the box. "Sherlock, you devil!"

I rolled my eyes but found myself smirking. "Doctor."

Clumsily, the Doctor extracted himself from a mess of wires, a position I had often found myself in and slapped me on the back. "You," he said deliberately, "Nearly stopped my hearts with that stunt you pulled a bit back."

I blinked. "... which stunt?"

"Oh. Right. The…" the Doctor paused, considering. There was an odd gleam in his eyes and I felt something nudge the back of my mind.

"What did you just do?"

For a moment the Doctor said nothing. "Sorry," spoke after a moment, shaking his head as if to clear it. "I was checking where you are in your timeline. How about jumping out of the TARDIS mid-flight, ey?" He chuckled at his own words, eyes sparkling with interest.

Ah. Yes. "I ended up two days in the past. I was unconscious up until an hour ago."

"That's rather good recovery for a human."

"Yes, well, I'm me."

The Doctor blinked at this statement. He nodded slowly. "I suppose you are."

At that moment, John stepped through the doorway, followed by Mary. "How long have you still got?" John asked me, moving toward the TARDIS. His eyes were hard, determined.

It didn't take fancy detective work to deduce what he was referring to. "About twenty hours before I am hopefully _briefly_, put out of commission."

John rolled his eyes. "I'm pretty sure-"

"John." The Doctor interrupted. He gave him a pointed look at the man. John still wasn't getting the hang of this timey… stuff, it seemed. Curious, the Doctor peered around Sherlock's shoulder, where Mary stood unsure. He waved at her. "Hello there, I'm the Doctor. Who are you?"

"She's Mary Morstan," I answered quickly. I didn't have time for introductions. "She… took care of me while I was unconscious and I believe her to be a trustworthy."

Mary blinked, looked at me and smiled.

Sentiment. Uck.

The Doctor's eyes were wide and he chuckled softly. "Brilliant."

I didn't have time to wonder what he meant by that, and instead turned my attention to more vital issues. Like the fact that I was going to die. "Right. Back to business. Could you follow the fog's trail?"

The Doctor shrugged. "I located the trail, but both John and I thought it best to wait for you and besides, we were busy trying to fix you up and send you off…"

That sentence made no sense whatsoever, but I didn't try to understand. Better not to. "Okay, okay,." I waved away his words. "Then there's no time to waste."

"I agree." Quickly the Doctor moved around the TARDIS and opened the door, which was positioned on the opposite side. "The fog is irritable but still very useful. I think it knows what we're doing."

"I don't doubt it." I stepped around the TARDIS and entered after the Doctor. The TARDIS shimmered around me, and I felt her consciousness brush my own. For the first time, I didn't pull away from the odd caress. She was glad to see me.

John stepped behind me and we circled around the center console, peering into the jar with our fog, which the Doctor had rigged up to the TARDIS with multiple wires. The white mass expanded and contracted regularly, seemingly attempting to escape.

It was then that I realized Mary had yet to follow us. Rolling my eyes, I slid down the railing lining the stairs and poked my head out of the door. Instantly, Mary, who was peeking around the corner of the police box, withdrew in surprize. "Are you coming?" I asked.

Slowly, Mary's head appeared again. She looked the box up and down skeptically. "...Where?"

I didn't have time for this. "In the box," I answered, exaggerating my words.

Frowning, Mary stepped fully around the corner; however, with the door mostly shut, only my head poking out, she couldn't see into the TARDIS. "It'll be a bit cramped."

"... Naw."

By this time, the Doctor realized I was talking to her and came up from behind me. He pulled me back gently, glanced at me, and opened the door with a rush. His grin enveloped his entire face. "Are you getting on, Mary?"

"If she likes," I muttered, turning away and jogging up to the center console once more. If what I had seen of her character was true, there was no way Mary would refuse.

In the background, the Doctor babbled on about rubbish I didn't care to listen too, and Mary, true to form, entered the TARDIS and let out a gasp. I ignored her, my attention falling on John.

I eyed him, trying to read his expression. John obviously did not approve of her, staring at Mary with something akin to distrust, despite his knowing her. I suppose that was to be expected. John was never one to extend welcoming arms easily.

I snorted at the thought and instantly John's blue eyes flew to mine, a question within their seas. If John could read my thoughts, he would have laughed at that last inkling. I was the most unwelcoming person _I _had ever met. But at least I was honest. Well, most of the time. Occasionally.

Right. Huh. Maybe I'm not entirely honest or welcoming but no one can deny I am extremely clever. That definitely makes up for what I lack. Probably.

Seeing that I wasn't going to supply an answer, John's gaze left mine and wandered toward Mary once more. The Doctor was going on about dimensions and time travel and Mary, was taking it far better than either John or I did.

That was a might bit humbling.

She let out a breathless laugh and caught my eye. "I thought you were joking when you said all that rubbish about teleporting and stuff!"

"I don't… joke."

The Doctor nodded a bit ruefully. "He doesn't."

And John was silent.

Slowly, Mary nodded. She grinned. "This- this is amazing!"

Right. Enough delays. "Yes. Quite so." I swiveled toward the Doctor. "If you don't mind, Doctor, I have less than a day to live. Can you track the fog or not?"

I think my casual tone threw him off for a moment because the Time Lord stared at me blankly for a moment before nodding rapidly. "Yes. Exactly. Let's, um, yeah. That." Quickly he skipped up the rest of the stairs and pulling in front of the scanner. He jostled the jar for a moment, muttering to himself. "There appears to be some interference. Gimme a second."

I did.

"Is it working now?"

"... No. It's an expression, Sherlock. Something humans usually say, I think. Unless I'm getting it wrong…"

The Time Lord glanced at John in question and John shook his head. "No. You got it right. Sherlock is just weird."

Thanks, John.

Chuckling like John's statement was common knowledge, the Doctor turned back to the scanner and typed rapidly on a typewriter that doubled as a keyboard. "Anyway. It doesn't mean a literal second, Sherlock."

I rolled my eyes. What else did he mean then? A non-literal second? That made no sense at all. "So… several seconds, then?"

"Quite a few."

Whatever. I went silent, ignoring John's smirk that teased the edge of my sight line. Perhaps he was less upset now by what I had done earlier… or would do in the future.

"It's been a few." I muttered.

The Doctor rolled his eyes and stood straight. He smiled at me, eyes wide with anticipation. "Ready?"

"Yes."

John snorted. "Well I'm not," and the Doctor just laughed.

"That's the spirit." Without further hesitation, the Doctor pulled down a lever and the TARDIS jostled, causing me to lay a hand on a conveniently placed railing. I didn't remember it being there a moment ago.

Mary gasped as the TARDIS threw her about, obviously making it difficult for Mary to grab onto anything.

_Play nice…_ I thought.

In return, I received a very irritated wave of emotion that dissipated into compliance. Why the TARDIS listened to me was beyond my comprehension, but I wasn't about to complain.

Slowly, we landed. I could feel the ground settle beneath my feet and I surged forward before even the Doctor had moved. Then together, John, the Doctor and I exited the TARDIS.

Mary followed a few seconds and gasped. "We've moved!"

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "I believe we just went over this like, five seconds ago..."

Their voices faded into the background as I took in the scene before me. Quickly we spread out through the place, exploring.

"Well," John said after a moment. He crossed his arms and stood at my side. "It's kinda cliche, don't you think?"

"Hiding in an empty, rundown warehouse? Perhaps for us, John, but if these truly are aliens, then perhaps hiding in a warehouse is a novel concept." As soon as I said it, a smirk worked its way up my lips and a small snort escaped me.

John smiled. "What is it?"

"That is most ridiculous thing I have ever said."

Now John chuckled. "Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it is."

From across the room, the Doctor heard us chuckling and rolled his eyes. "What's so funny?"

I waved my hand dismissively toward him. "You wouldn't understand."

Huffing indignantly, he turned away and continued to scan the damp room with his screwdriver, Mary following behind him curiously.

"So," Sherlock heard her say, "You're an alien?"

"Yup..."

"Is _he _an alien?" (obviously talking about me)

"... No."

At that point, I turned back to John. He smiled at me kindly. There were only a few people who ever gave me looks like that. It was unsettling at first, to be honest. I was glad for John's calming presence now. Especially today. I ruefully attempted to imitate the gesture before casting my eyes across the warehouse. It was not too large, but fog didn't need much room to hide.

There were many windows lining the top of the wall, most cracked or so dirty they couldn't be seen through. Rusty metal beams held up the wooden ceiling and light case dusty stripes across our faces. Graffiti decorated the walls and the dirt floor was damp with condensation. Basically, the perfect hideout.

The only problem was that it was empty. Entirely empty. There was only one door and after checking around the premise of the building, I assured myself that there were no other places to go. The warehouse was completely devoid of any sort of life.

"The trail lead right here," the Doctor murmured, frowning in confusion. He turned around the jar that he fetched from the TARDIS. The fog sat silently within, motionless. "I don't understand. I hate not understanding."

I snorted. "Believe me, so do I." And that was true. All this guessing and chasing into the dark put me on edge. "Is there a chance the fog could purposely lead us astray?" It was the only theory I had at the moment.

"No." the Doctor answered. "It couldn't erase its trail. Not possible."

Now Mary interjected. We were all standing in a loose half circle in the center of the warehouse now. "No offence, uh, Doctor, but it seems to me that there seems to be a lot of _possible _being made possible." She swiped a hair from her eyes and waited for our reply.

She had a good point.

"Right." John said after a moment, running a hand through his hair. "I don't see why we should stay any longer. There's nothing here. Like, nothing. Look," He pointed at the wet ground. "There aren't even footprints."

That stopped my thoughts suddenly.

There was something about that statement...

Something very…

… Important…

_Not leaving tracks leaves a track in of itself._

_They're made of water, that's why they don't take water from their victims._

I could feel my face drain of color and John noticed immediately.

"Sherlock?" He turned to face me with a look of concern. "Sherlock, talk to me. What's wrong?"

My eyes flicked to his. "Vatican Cameos, John."

Instantly John, the military man that he was, took a step back and took hold of Mary's arm. "Come on," he whispered. Confused, but compliant Mary stumbled back with John.

"What? What is it?" she whispered.

"Just do exactly what I say, alright?" John responded, opening the door of the TARDIS. He stepped in for a moment, probably intending to come right back outside, but the TARDIS shut her doors immediately, closing them inside.

Good.

Now that John was safe, I turned slightly to catch the Doctor's eyes. It seemed the Time Lord had yet to catch on to the situation despite all of his intelligence.

"When was the last time it rained," I murmured.

The Doctor frowned, confused, but answered easily. "Not for a week at least."

Slowly, I nodded. Staring at the ground pointedly, I clenched my jaw. Any second now… "If it has not rained and we are inside a building without plumbing… why is the ground wet?"

Finally, the Time Lord drew in a sharp breath. "I am such an _idiot_!" he hissed.

I didn't argue. Instead I gauged the distance from the TARDIS and us. Could we make a run for it? "It's all around us, Doctor. Don't make any sudden moves."

"Like I would. I _have _done this before."

We locked eyes and gulped. Very slowly, I reached toward him, touched his wrist, and was rewarded with a bombardment of thoughts.

_On three we run?_

_We don't have much of a choice, do we?_

_No… Ready?_

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

We took off running, and our feet thudded against the damp dirt. Making it to the TARDIS was impossible and we both knew it. I was just glad John and Mary managed to get inside without arousing the suspicion of our enemy.

A moment later, the water from the ground rose up and surrounded us in white. I lost contact with the Doctor and was unable to spot him in the fog.

The aliens were here the whole time, hidden in plain sight.

"Doctor!" I screamed.

No response.

I opened my mouth to shout again, but he fog rushed down my throat and I choked, unable to breath, much less speak.

My thoughts scrambling for purchase within my rapidly slipping consciousness, I managed to catch the thought from the fog around me.

It was laughing. At us.

_Masssster wissshess to ssssseeee you_… It murmured, a thousand and voices snaking through my mind. I couldn't move. I couldn't even blink.

Suddenly the fog surged forward and sent a cold punch into my stomach. The world spun. The last thing I heard before blacking out were the TARDIS' moans. At least John was safe.

I woke up in a cell.

**_AN: Thanks for reading guys! We are hopefully 'nearing' the end of the story. Don't worry though, there are still several chapters to go. I will be gone for the next two weeks at least, so I thought I'd at least update one of my stories before I left. Anyway, please leave a REVIEW!_**


	18. Shark Eyes

**_Me: I AM BACK FROM THE DEAD PEEPS!_**

**_Sherlock: ..._**

**_Sherlock: That's not how you do it._**

**_Me: This is coming from King-of-totally-graceful-reentrance._**

**_Me: I don't care what you say. I'm not jumping out of a cake. That's the Doctor's job._**

**_[Heh... Yeah. Enjoy the show guys:)]_**

* * *

Chapter Eighteen

Shark Eyes

I coughed, sputtered, gagged, on the air. It was thick with condensation and smelled like rust. Slowly I opened my eyes, only to be met by the sight of a locked door. How original.

I was in a cell; that much was evident. The walls were made of a white, glass-like material that left the room beyond shrouded in a white haze. There was a slight, rectangular outline in the glass that I assumed was the door, despite the lack of a door knob. Very inconvenient, that.

Glancing up, I noted the shackles pinning my wrists to the wall, and the shackles of someone to my left.

Slowly my eyes crawled down the fellow prisoner. The Doctor opened his green eyes lazily and flicked his gaze at me and then the rest of the room. I noticed bits of dirt on his face, the way his bangs cast a shadow on his forehead, and a small white scar on his lip. Probably from having bit through it at some point. He let out a mildly annoyed whine and jostled the shackles. "Well, this is irritating."

"Quite so." I turned away. Letting my head fall back against the wall, I stared at the ceiling with a sigh on my lips. At least John was not a prisoner. And Mary. She escaped as well. Good.

My head thumped against the glass wall dully. It was a thick, hardy glass. There would be no breaking through the wall; not with our bare hands. I glanced at the Doctor. "Have you still got your screwdriver?"

"What kind of time traveler do you think I am?"

I blinked, waiting.

He rolled his eyes. "I've got it in my pocket."

Which was good.

But our hands were shackled above our heads.

Not good.

"You don't happen to have telekinesis tucked up in there somewhere?" the Doctor asked.

I rolled my eyes. "As far as I know, no. Do you?"

"No, but I _am _a master juggler."

I frowned, looking his lanky body up and down. Seriously? He could hardly carry something without tripping, much less juggle it. "Somehow I doubt that."  
"Somehow you doubt everything."

"It's my _job_. And I don't doubt everything, I question it."

The Doctor shrugged. "Same difference."

Slightly irritated now, I spat my words. "That doesn't even make sense."

"Again, It's a _saying_." He sighed and glanced at his watch. It was waterlogged. Interesting. The fog must have ruined it somehow. "Rassilon, I hate it when they take forever to interrogate." The Doctor sighed. He glanced at me and squinted in boredom. "How do you know so much and yet so little? It's like you're not from this century at all."

I stared at him dully. "You're one to talk." Deadpan.

The Doctor shut his mouth and nodded. "Alright. Well, if you ever need proof that the Earth really does circle the sun, I'd be happy to help." Sarcasm. Lord of freaking sarcasm.

I rolled my eyes. "Why would I ever need proof of that?" I growled. "It doesn't matter. What _does _matter is that that were sitting in a _cell _because you are distracting and erratic and so I didn't notice the wet ground as soon as I should have." That wasn't entirely true, but I was bored. Arguing was better than sitting around.

The Doctor scoffed. "Oh, so this is _my _fault now? You're the one who got us into this whole mess in the first place!"

"Well, I _apologize_," I spat. "I didn't plan on _actually _dying and ripping a hole in the fabric of reality, thank you very much!"

"Ah, but you would have the nerve. You, of all the people in the universe, Sherlock Holmes, would have the nerve to not bloody _die_."

As soon as the words left his lips, I raised my eyebrows and bit back a snort. The Doctor bit tongue as if to pull the phrase back.

"You know," I started, "if you want to insult someone, Doctor, I suggest considering whether or not your 'victim' can throw the insult back at you."

"They usually don't have the intellect or courage to do so."

Rolling my eyes, I focused my gaze on the door. "Oh right, of course. You usually 'hang out' with people that can't compete with you because then they're always impressed. And what is the point of a time-traveling alien if he's not impressive?"

The Doctor's eyes darkened and I wondered if he would attempt to kick me.

That would surely be interesting.

When nothing happened for several seconds, I finally looked at him. To my surprise, he wore a small smirk.

"What?"

"Nothing." The Doctor chuckled and let his head dangle. "Look at us. Sherlock Holmes and the Doctor, bickering in a cell."

"Are you suggesting we can do better?"

"I rather hope so."

Considering him with a cocked head, I nodded. He was right of course. If John were here, he would have forced me to figure something out several minutes ago.

_Come on, you idiot. Think._

Right. Fine. I scanned the room quickly. There was no way to escape unless someone moved us. Easy enough.

"Hello!" I shouted.

"What is wrong with you?"

"Shh! _HEY! _Guard? Prisoner-watcher! Alien foe! Hello! Is there anyone of moderate intelligence around?"

"Are you _trying _to kill us?"

"Well, it's not like it would stick." I banged my head against the wall. "And besides, I don't exactly have time to waste waiting for those IDIOTIC WATER CREATURES to come execute us. I've only got a day remember? Who knows how long we were unconscious."

The Doctor opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment there was a small _hiss_ from the other side of the room, and the door faded away. I raised an eyebrow. "See, Doctor? Results."

The Doctor cast me an irritated glare before focusing on the guard. The guard stood in the doorway and my stomach hitched for an instant.

Maybe I shouldn't have provoked an evil, fog-inhabiting, shadow... thing. It definitely felt male, despite no evidence of the fact. He had a vaguely humanoid form that shifted and spun, condensed fog. His eyes were dark with a deep spark of red within. Like a ghost. Approaching us, he knelt down so that his gaze locked with my own. I could have sworn I saw his snark flicker.

The creature lifted up a deliberate finger and traced my jaw gently. Down my nose. Across my lips. "We are not… _Idiotic water creatures_," he hissed. With inhuman speed, he jerked his finger into my eye.

Letting out a cry of pain and surprise, I jumped back. I did not drop my watery gaze even though I ached to do so.

The ghost laughed, wickedly so. "Come," he murmured. "It is time."

"Time for what?" the Doctor countered softly. He frowned, but there was no trace of fear in his eyes, only fascination.

If novelty was a drug, then the Doctor was her addict. I didn't judge him. I was an addict as well. Already, my mind raced up and down the creature. How do you _work_?

The creature did not reply. Instead he unlocked our shackles and pulled us roughly to our feet. His grip was extremely strong despite his wispy appearance. Perhaps it was more of a mental restraint than a physical one… "You are needed to restore Our Majesty and his ship," the creature finally supplied.

"You're... majesty?" the Doctor questioned. I stayed quiet. Only a few seconds now... "And that is-?"

"None of your concern. Come."

We exited the cell cleanly and entered a long white hall. There were doors every so often, but I could see nothing within. As we walked, my foot splashed through a puddle. I glanced up. A leak.

Not in space then.

But there was no recent rain. Why a roof leak?

I pushed the thought aside because at that moment the Doctor bumped into me and I got a jumbled shot of his thoughts.

_Ready?_

_Shoot._

Without further hesitation, the Doctor whipped his screwdriver out of his pocket in one smooth movement and a high picked ring sung through the air.

The man only had a moment to let out a half-shout before he froze into an ice statue. "Clever," I murmured, extracting my hand from the guard's.

The Doctor shrugged and started down the hallway. "I didn't kill him, just-"

"-slowed down the water molecules he inhabits. I know. As I said, clever." I pulled my coat tighter to my body and quickly followed the Time Lord. "Do you have a plan beyond this?"

"Well, no. Not exactly."

"Alright. We're better on our toes anyhow."

Quickly, we jogged down the hallway. It was empty, but at any moment that could change. In a space as small as this, I hated to think of the outcome.

"An alarm of some sort should probably sound any second-" A high pitched whine filled the air and I threw my hands over my ears. It was so loud I couldn't have heard my own voice if I shouted. I _hated _alarms. They made me feel like panicking. But I was _not _going to panic in front of got-a-freaking-time-machine.

The Doctor waved an irritated hand by his ears. The sound appeared to hurt him as well. However, his eyes met mine and I read his lips.

_Run!_

For once, I completely agreed. We took off and each step seared energy my legs. I could do running.

The white walls blurred and it took me several seconds to realize that I kept up with the Time Lord easily. He glanced at me, grinned slightly manically, and surged forward. _Oh, no you don't._

I picked up my pace and we leveled out again. I smirked and we rounded a sudden corner.

There were wisps of fog all around us by now. Chasing, flying, shouting in their snakelike voices. The prisoners were escaping!

"In here!" the Doctor shouted. He grabbed the sleeve of my jacket and pulled me into some kind of closet. The alarm was dimmed inside. He pulled the door (this one was an actual door, thank you very much) closed. "They shouldn't find us here. For now. Catch your breath and then we need to find an exit."

I nodded, thinking that people really should try to make larger closets.

The Doctor shifted. We were chest to chest. "Is there any way you could-?"

"No," came my quick answer. The closet was filled with shelves of knickknacks and bits of junk very much unfamiliar to me and there was no room to move. I suddenly recalled the last time I hid in a closet.

With Mycroft.

I snorted and looked down at the Doctor. He had too look up at me from this position. I hadn't noticed how much taller I was than he until this very moment and I could tell the Doctor didn't like it. He squirmed. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing. Me and Mycroft were in a very similar situation not long ago."

That drew a small smile from the Doctor. "Is Mycroft as much of a prat as the books say?" he whispered. "I only met him briefly."

"I obviously haven't read the books, but I can assure you that he was none too happy to have his almighty dignity diminished when we were in that closet. Apparently having to hide behind a mop with his brother (who was only dressed in a sheet), was far beyond his limits of 'acceptable'." I chuckled and let my head fall backwards against the shelf behind me.

The Doctor laughed quietly and peered through the white mesh that substituted for a window on the door. There was no one outside. They'd all run passed. "I… used to have a brother," he said slowly.

Oh gods, sentiment. I raised an eyebrow. "Used?"

"Yes, well, he's… gone now. At least, as far as I know."

Ah.

"He was a lot like your brother," the Doctor continued. "When he was younger. Very dignified. Very protective. Very confident."

"You mean _arrogant_?"

The Doctor laughed. "Yes, that too." He frowned. "If I'd paid more attention I might have noticed…" Sighing, the Doctor let his words trail off. "No matter now. As a child, he was very like Mycroft. When he got older he went a bit… bad." (1)

I nodded slowly, eyes on the ceiling, considering his words. "Mycroft is hardly a child."

"If Mycroft was to live for centuries, would you consider him old right now?"

"Touche." I glanced through the mesh. "They should be long gone by-"

"Wait." The Doctor stopped me and at that moment, I heard the shuffling, windy sound the fog-creatures made.

"You idiot!" Someone wheezed. "Do you realize what you've done! I will _die _if they are not harvested and we will be stuck on this forsaken planet forever!"

The Doctor frowned.

"Our Majesty! Majesty, I'm sorry. I did- didn't think. They had a very strong device. It immobilized me! I could do nothing!"

"Hmm," the scratchy voice replied, obviously not convinced. They walked just past the closet and then stopped. We didn't breath. I caught a glimpse of a dark-robed figure, their leader, assumably, along with our former guard. "All the same," said the robed man, "I cannot tolerate failure. We _will _have enough energy, even if it means harvesting half of this planet."

The guard's voice quivered as he spoke. "I am as devoted as you are, Majesty. Everyone is. We have killed time and again for your sake."

"Yes. Well, good for you."

The guard started to speak, but halted when a strange buzzing filled the air. There was a flash and then the guard was no more. The leader let out a sardonic sigh and continued down the hall. "Get your backsides moving!" he shouted. "They _cannot _escape! I will be in the lab waiting to hear of your success!" With that the voices and footsteps faded away.

The Doctor's gaze met mine, grave. "Electricity," he hissed.

"What?"

"He killed him with electricity. Something like a cow prod."

"You could see?"

The Doctor nodded and slowly opened the door. He poked his head out and then proceeded. I followed and soon we sped down the halls, ducking around corners and behind doors when the creatures passed. There were more outlets and splits in the hall now. The Doctor never hesitated at each fork and I trusted he knew where he was going. He glanced at his screwdriver, which beeped. He was probably using it as a GPS of sorts, I decided.

"Now we know what can kill them, if it becomes necessary."

I snorted. My dark coat cast a stark contrast on the surroundings. I was a shadow trying to hide in the sunlight. "It will become necessary, I hope you understand. They are willing to kill as many people as they want to get what they need."

"Yes, but, I'd still rather not kill them."

I raised an eyebrow, simultaneously looking for an escape. "Even though they're trying to kill you? That's rubbish. It's a wonder you've survived this long with that sort of attitude."

Shrugging, the Doctor frowned. "I suppose it's my genetic advantage."

"Must be." I turned away, opened a door and stopped in surprize.

"What is it?"

Ignoring him, I slipped inside the dark room and stared up in astonishment. "Of course. Obviously."

"What are you going on abou-? Oh."

"Yeah."

The Doctor and I stood beneath a glass dome of some sort. The walls gave away to glass, floor to ceiling windows. _Some sort of observatory? Not recently used._ Dim lamps lit the carpeted floor just enough that I could spot brown rubbish floating outside.

Yes. Floating.

We were underwater. The Doctor stepped forward and pressed a hand gently against the glass. He craned his neck to see the surface of the water, but it was far above us. "The… ocean?" the alien tried carefully.

I snorted. "Not quite." I knew the water's shade without needing to look twice. "Thames. We're at the bottom of the Thames."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed and he frowned thoughtfully. "How'd a spaceship end up here?"

"Same way you did? Pulled through the reality tear. Maybe it crashed."

"I suppose."

The Doctor nodded and pressed buttons on his screwdriver. He scanned the room with the instrument and I did the same with my eyes. A plan (a real plan) slowly formed in my mind and I chewed it carefully. The most stressed place on the glass would be right in the center, where it curved out.

There were footsteps outside the door and we both froze. No time to ask the Doctor. He'd disagree anyhow. "Give me your screwdriver," I whispered quickly. A smidge of a plan developed further in my mind. The Doctor didn't kill his enemies and I respected him for that. He'd had enough killing. But that didn't mean I wouldn't kill mine. I only moderately cared about the 'half of the planet' that the leader spoke of. But these creatures threatened John.

And that was unacceptable.

The Doctor clenched his jaw as he did so, but he tossed me the screwdrive. At that moment, the door opened.

Several things happened at once.

A guard shouted in surprize.

An alarm went off.

And I teleported with the Doctor.

My hands gripped his shoulders and we spun through a tunnel until we landed roughly on a pebble beach. Oh good. I didn't undershoot it. Now that I knew in general what was on the outside of the spaceship, teleporting was easy. The Doctor stumbled on the rocks and spun to look at me in surprize.

"Sherlock, what-?"

"No time." My eyes landed on a distant spark of blue. I rolled my eyes, only moderately surprised. "What do you know… there's your ship." I pointed at the TARDIS. She was parked on a dock nearby, John and Mary probably still inside. The clever girl knew where I'd end up. I smiled wanly. _Thank you._

The Doctor spun back and forth, looking at me and then the TARDIS. "But- I don't… How did you-?"

I stepped away from him. "Sorry."

Suddenly the Doctor stopped.

I think he knew. He knew what I was about to do to some extent. He tried to grab me but I was already gone, rolling back into the observatory.

I fell hard on my left shoulder and felt it twist unnaturally. Hissing, I pulled myself to my feet. No matter.

Several of the fog-creatures had filled the room. They stared at me warily, or maybe they were shocked. Either way, I took advantage of their hesitation. Gripping the screwdriver tightly in the fist of my uninjured arm, I held it up. I could do it. I _would _do it.

Probably.

Startled into action by my movement, they surge forward with one mind.

"Move again," I shouted, "And I will _end _you!"

I was reminded eerily of Moriarty. His voice echoed in place of my own. _I will burn the heart out of you._

Shivering inwardly, I tucked away the thought. Not productive.

They halted, hesitated, and then one stepped forward. Ohh, bravery. I liked it. "You do not have to _power _to kill us all."

"You really underestimate me. Not to mention, I am _royally pissed off_."

The guard who stepped forward let out a small sound that could have been laughter. "What? Because you could not save your friend?"

What?

"I saved John. He's far away from… here…" I trailed off, realizing that my words were mere entertainment to these monsters.

They chuckled and one of the creatures gestured out of the door. "Bring him in, wouldn't you?"

I heard shuffling and a few curses and I didn't need to see his face to know who it was. John stumbled into the observatory and his shadow rippled across the ground to meet his reflection in the glass. He looked up at me with sad eyes and stood as best as he could. He was dirty and scuffed up and a large scratch scarred his cheekbone.

_TARDIS must have let him out. Mary is still in TARDIS? Probable. John would kept her safe… against her will, even._

_He tried to run. Slipped on asphalt. Overtaken._

"John, you idiot," I breathed.

John coughed. "Nice to see you too." The moment he spoke, one of the ghosts (I was really getting tired of calling them fog-creatures) shoved John and he stumbled.

My anger was instant and sharp. "Don't touch him."

If the ghost had eyebrows, they would be raised mockingly. "Really? And what are you going to do about it?" He took a hold of John's hair and tugged. John wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips, but otherwise made no sound. "Would you break the glass?" the ghost continued. He continued pulling John's hair, harder now. "You'll kill him and yourself. On top of that, we need no air to breathe. It would be in vain."

I glowered.

No one touched John.

No one.

I very slowly let the screwdriver fall to my side and the ghost nodded. "Oh look, intelligent life. How refreshing."

Scowling, I dropped the screwdriver and pushed it toward the ghosts. "Give me John."

"Ha. I think not."

"If you do, I can assure you a passage back to wherever you came from."

The ghosts seemed taken back by this for a moment. They spoke among themselves for a moment before turning back. The ghost who tugged John's hair stepped forward again. "Thank you for the offer, but I'm afraid an agreement of that sort cannot be arranged." The ghost handed John off to another ghost and glided toward me. He looked me in the eye, almost seductive in his attitude. "You see, if we agreed to that, then we would leave without control over this planet. And that is unacceptable. We need your essence to power our ship. Our Majesty would have liked the Time Lord as well, but you will do just fine alone."

I stared into the creature's dead, shark eyes for a long, quiet moment. There was no humanity, no pity, no fear. Within those orbs, there was only darkness.

Decided, I nodded abruptly. "Last chance."

"We'll pass."

"Well then, I suggest you enjoy your victory for as long as you can."

The ghost grinned and turned away. "Look, he admits defeat!"

And then the glass cracked.

* * *

**AN:**

**(1) Anyone want to take a guess at who the Doctor's brother is? I was pretty obvious. It's technically not canon, I believe, but it would make sense if it was.**

**Anyways, so that's the end of an insane chapter. It was quite long, which I hope you enjoyed after such a long silence on my part. I wrote this kind of quick actually, so sorry if you ran across more than the usual amount of grammatical errors. What do you think Sherlock's plan is, hmm? I'd love to hear some ideas:)**

**Funny enough, the most difficult thing about this timey-whimey story has been keeping track of that freaking screwdriver. I'm like "Who the heck did I give it to ****_now_****?"**

**Anyways, please leave a REVIEW.** **Sorry,** **there was so little of John in this chapter. I'll try to remedy that next time.**


	19. Roadkill

_**Chapter Nineteen**_

**_Roadkill_**

I dove for the screwdriver, mostly forgotten on the floor, and teleported…

… right into John.

The glass cracked more and more and any second now the water would rush in here and crush us.

I grabbed John's hand…

… and we were on the beach. John panted, eyes wide. "What did you do?"

"There's a setting on the screwdriver," I said quickly, flicking it in the air. "makes a sound to high it can't be heard, but I figured it would take care of glass. Besides, it's alien tech. Why not?" I held down a hand and stood him up. My knees stung from the harsh landing, but other than that, we were alright. I could walk away right now. We could leave those ghosts to haunt humanity. But then… John would still be in danger.

No. That wouldn't work.

"Now, the Doctor is… somewhere around here." I said, exhaling thirdly through my teeth. "Go find him. I'll meet up with you ten minutes from now. The next few minutes are critical if I'm about to pull this off."

John opened his mouth to protest, confused, but I held up a hand. "Ten minutes, John."

He clenched his jaw and then, resigned."Ten minutes."

Quickly, I scrounged through my pockets. I pulled out a pad of paper and a pen, scribbled on it quickly, and crumbled it tightly in my hand. I would have to remember not to drop it. John watched me nervously. He knew what I was doing. He remembered the note we read from my dead self an eternity ago. Although I could sense John's dislike of the situation, he didn't say anything. I looked him in the eye and with a nod, the world warped around me…

...I tumbled into the tunnel, and then I splashed into the spaceship hallway. The effect was dizzying, but I ignored my physical weakness. I focused instead on the scene around me.

The ghosts shouted and ran from the observatory just as a massive rush of pressure-filled the air and water surged down the halls. The water reached my knees at first, but it quickly rose. My ears popped painfully and I grabbed the wall to steady myself. Distantly an alarm blared inside and outside of my mind.

"Secure the lab!" one of the fog creatures shouted. Apparently they hadn't expected me actually to break the glass. But the ghosts couldn't drown, I thought. Why were they panicking? Was it their tech they were worried about?

No matter.

I adjusted my grip on the screwdriver and glanced at it. With the precious milliseconds I had, I found myself considering it. The Sonic was cool and pulsed in my hand. It looked very innocent and I doubt the Doctor would appreciate me using his tool in the this way.

But I couldn't think about that. Gulping, I brought to mind the heartless, soulless eyes that stared into mine. I remembered them turning men, women and children into ice statues. I remembered their disregard for humanity. In the eyes of the law, even, they were very guilty.

But most of all, I seared the back of my eyelids with the image of the ghost mocking John. Pulling his hair. Trying to freeze him.

No one hurt John.

There was no time left. With that, I flicked a switch on the screwdriver. _Think it and it'll happen_. A white spark snapped on the top of the screwdriver, enough volts to kill several men over again. And apparently... ghosts.

My dark coat tangled with the water's current and I resisted the urge to shrug it off as I stared at the screwdriver. If I was going to die, I was going to do it in my bloody coat.

It would look more dramatic that way.

I didn't hesitate now. I plunged the live electronic into the bubbling, brown water that rushed higher and higher around me.

Instantly, searing electricity surged through my body, white hot and impossible to escape. I gasped in surprize and it took all of my strength not to let go of the screwdriver and the scribbled note. The last thing I heard before going under were the monsters' exclamations of surprise and pain. A wave rushed toward me, and I collapsed under its massive strength with grim satisfaction. I spun and slammed against the walls, bubbles blinding me.

With my last bit of consciousness, I willed myself back through time and space. I needed to complete the circle, the continuity, back in the alley where John nearly died…

… For a moment I didn't think I did it, but then by body smashed into John's. He was dry, I noted statically. My arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace and I teleported us into the TARDIS, as I recalled doing.

I was back a few days ago, and I'd just saved John from becoming an ice statue, it seemed. In my splattered state, I felt voices shouting around me and the TARDIS whispering soothingly. There was smooth glass under my hands. The lights were bright. My thoughts... didn't work.

After a moment, my heart stuttered…

….and...

...stopped…...

…...…..Wait…...

...What?...

...Where am-?...Where am I?

I coughed turned on my side and spewed far more river water than I'd rather think about before I had a chance to even open my eyes. Always pleasant, waking from the dead. When I finally _could _open my eyes, I spent more time trying to breath than anything else. I gulped the oxygen down like I could never get enough.

What do you know? I wasn't deceased. That was a relief. Otherwise, my whole scene would have been incredibly idiotic, dashing coat or not.

I blinked rapidly, attempting to steady my foggy vision. I could feel sheets and a blanket. The blanket was soft and knitted. A cot? Probably. But I couldn't _see_!

"Blast it," I muttered.

I tried groping for some sort of wall or something, but then a voice pierced my ears. Loud footsteps that clapped like thunder. I realized I felt remarkably hungover.

"Sherlock?" said the voice. "Sherlock it that yo-?" A crashing sound. Broken glass? A cup?

John? Why was he always dropping his cups? For heaven's sake, get a grip! _Heh. I'm making pathetic jokes now. What is _wrong _with me?_

I squinted at John. He stood in a doorway or some sort of rectangular thing. "Would you turn the lights down?" I croaked. "I can't see a bloody thing."

Silence for several seconds. "... There's only this little lamp on." A click and then ocular relief. I sighed, and John came into slightly better focus. He wore a tan sweater with blue triangles on the shoulders (not unusual) and his cup of tea was eagerly being devoured by the TARDIS. All liquid on the floor had already disappeared.

He stared at me in a sort of stumped shock that made me more uncomfortable than I'd like to admit.

"What?" I eventually muttered, running a hand through my hair gingerly. It was knotted and dirty. Bloody too, probably.

John just gulped. He let his gaze fall and seemed to register the broken cup at his feet. He didn't move to pick it up. "You… you really do it, then?"

"Do what?"

"I dunno. _Revive?_"

"What? Did you think I was joking?"

John barked a laugh, but he wasn't amused. "No. I just..." He bit his lip, rubbed his neck. Nervous. Unsure, maybe? I didn't blame him. "I didn't get it 'till just now."

What was I supposed to say to that? I shrugged and thankfully, John took the initiative.

"There's fresh clothes on the chair over there. You have a room with a shower and stuff across the hall. The Doctor didn't want to put you in a bedroom until you were, you know…"

"Not dead? Well, I supposed it would be a bit gross by your standards."

John snorted but the tension go away. It took only a moment for me to identify the source of it and it sent a shiver through me.

I think he was scared. I hated that. I hated it with very fiber of my being. If there was one person who shouldn't be afraid of me, it should be John. I wanted to be angry at him for not standing by me. But if I was in his shoes, I would probably be in a similar state. Even Mycroft lost his 'cool' for a bit.

Hopefully John would get over whatever nervousness he had. He was a good man. But he was just man like everyone else. I couldn't expect perfection. And everyone gets afraid.

And to be honest, I was scared myself. Scared _of_ myself. I suppose that meant that I was just a man as well. Perhaps that wasn't a bad thing. Perhaps it was alright to be a bit normal. It certainly felt safer to think so than it did when I really _was _normal. I'd always thought I needed to be _more_ than a man, but now I was and I'd do anything to be straightforward like John. To me, John was the epitome of humanity. He wasn't perfect by far, but he was intricate in his failings, his flaws. The thought reminded me of the complex spiraling tunnel I sped through when I teleported. John was fascinating just like the tunnel, even if he didn't look it at first.

I dashed my thoughts and stood slowly, pretending to be stronger than I was. "Right. Okay. Fine."

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"What are you?"

I cocked my head, wishing I knew the answer. A streak of temper shot through me, and I directed it at John. What sort of friend asked a question like that? I shrugged stiffly and didn't look at him.

John sighed. "Alright, then can you at least tell me what's going on?"

"No."

"Why not?"

An irritated sigh left my lips, and I pinched the bridge of my nose. I couldn't answer that. Didn't he know?

Out of the corner of my eye, John frowned deeply and his voice dipped into anger like a spoon in boiling water. My stomach twisted. This was so very unfair. "So that's how it's going to be now, yeah?" he ground. "You doing heaven knows what and then I get to watch you die without knowing why or how or anything?"

I wanted him to stop. His words were like razor blades under my nails.

But he kept on going. "I've watched you die _twice _within two weeks, Sherlock. Do you have any idea how awful that-?"

And then I couldn't take it. "-Oh shut _up_, John!" I spat.

It was almost a physical blow. John took a step backward, eyes wide. His words stuck in his throat. Then he shook his head angrily. His heavy footsteps echoed down the hall as he stormed away.

The moment he was gone, the unfamiliar sensation of guilt weighed my stomach. I clenched my fists and slowly exhaled. _I should go after him_. _Run after him and beg for his forgiveness._ We were just people. Afraid. I shouldn't have shouted at him.

But I didn't move.

Instead, I picked up the folded clothes, jeans, and a casual, dark-blue dress shirt, on a hospital stool and made for the bedroom across the hall that John mentioned. My stomach continued rolling uncomfortably and I struggled to ignore it. Hunger and guilt was not a good combination.

Entering the room, I felt the TARDIS' consciousness brush my own, looking for approval. I smiled softly. It was an exact replica of my bedroom as a teenager, before I moved out of my mother's house. _Thank you_. Dark green carpet dotted with chemical stains. A cluttered table filled with test tubes and other scientific equipment. An unused bed. There was a black chalkboard on the bathroom door that sported strange doodles and equations. If I remembered correctly, this room was mine when I was no more than fifteen. Before I became involved in… bad things. I shook away the memory that surfaced with the thought. I didn't like thinking about the addict I was at that time of my life.

I took only a half a moment to glance in the bathroom mirror before I showered, but the sight stopped me short. "I look like ruddy roadkill," I breathed.

It only took a second my unintentional irony to sink in. I snorted and then shook my head at my stupidity. My fingers wrapped around the cold, ceramic sink as I chuckled.

_Did you seriously just say that?_

I stopped short at the voice.

John?

But a quick glance into my bedroom revealed that he was nowhere to be found. It must have been in my head.

"Oh fantastic, now I can be tormented by his sarcasm indefinitely."

_Cheeky._

I ignored him and got in the shower. It was a quick affair and within a few minutes I stood outside of my temporary bedroom fully dressed. Hands in my pockets, I found my way to the console room without hardship. My headache faded and was left with only a faint weakness.

I spotted the Doctor across the room. His lanky legs were crisscrossed on the floor and he bent over a gadget of some sort. I moved quietly and he didn't notice me until I stood next to him. He looked up and his eyes brightened. "Sherlock! John said you were awake. Do you by chance know where your other-self got to? Oh, and good job with the note. I hoped it would work."

I suppressed a smile. "You're welcome. I'm surprised it was readable. And, past me is going to show up in a bit. I need to leave rather quickly, actually." I frowned. "Wouldn't want to run into each other. Do you know what time it is?"

"2:16 PM. Do you need the seconds?" He didn't appear to need to consult a watch. I shook my head. No, I didn't need the seconds.

Instead, I thought back. It was mid-afternoon when I arrived at Bakers Street with Mary. Past-me would be here any minute. "Alright. Where's John?"

"Sulking." The Doctor frowned. "I'm not sure why. Did you two fight?"

"Sort of." I sighed and leaned back against the center console. Idly rubbing one of the knobs, I shrugged. "He's confused, and I don't think he likes the idea that I come back from the dead."

A sad sort of smile danced on the Doctor's lips. He understood. "Even the most loyal friends have a hard time with that one. Imagine doing it, but waking up with a _different face_. It's ruddy impossible to keep them calm."

I chuckled. He was right, of course. At least I had the same face when I came back.

The Doctor continued as he messed with what appeared to be a metal yo-yo. "Since we're on the subject, I did some tests and it seems that you don't _actually _die. You stop your body clock before the moment of death. Gives it time to heal."

I cocked my head. "Intriguing, but that doesn't solve the problem with John."

"No, I suppose not. But, he's _John Watson_, Sherlock. He'll come around. I bet if you stuck around for a bit longer you might even see it."

I shrugged. "Not enough time for that, I'm afraid."

"Yeah? Well, eat something before you go. I'm always hungry after I come back."

He gestured randomly behind me and I turned to look. To my surprise, a sandwich sat on one of the chairs. It wasn't there before. The TARDIS really was a miracle. Reaching down, I picked it up. "Thanks."

"No problemo." The Doctor twisted a screw on the yo-yo and then grinned. "Oh yes, perfect!"

For a long moment, I just watched him. He zapped the toy with his screwdriver. "Doctor?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm sorry."

The Doctor cocked his head, finally looking up "For what?"

I shrugged. I used his screwdriver, which he fixed toys with, to do something unspeakable. Even if it was necessary. Even if they were evil. The Doctor wouldn't approve. I wanted to make sure that if I didn't get a chance to see him again for one reason or another, he would know I didn't do it flippantly. Suddenly I was glad I lost the screwdriver at some point. The Doctor could make a new, untainted one.

But I could hardly tell him that. Instead, I shrugged and opened up the spot in my mind that allowed me to teleport.

And the TARDIS' interior disappeared.

* * *

**_AN: LEAVE ME A REVIEW PLEASE!:))))_**

**_So__... John's upset:-/__ I'm sure they work (worked) (will work) (whatever) it out._**

**_Anyways, so maybe I'm just extremely behind on Sherlock News, but they released a Sherlock 2015 Christmas special trailer. I watched it recently and PEOPLE NEED TO SEE AND FANGIRL/BOY OVER THIS BEAUTY!_**

**_So yeah, if you're not a spoil__er-__phobe__, a__nd you haven't seen it, you should totally go watch it :DDD (and tell me what you think maybe?)_**

**_Alright, again, I love you pretty little reviewers! :DD_**


	20. It All Falls Apart

**_Previous chapter (because it's been, like, 3 million years since I've updated) :_**

_"I'm sorry."_

_The Doctor cocked his head, finally looking up "For what?"_

_I shrugged. I used his screwdriver, which he fixed toys with, to do something unspeakable. Even if it was necessary. Even if they were evil. The Doctor wouldn't approve. I wanted to make sure that if I didn't get a chance to see him again for one reason or another, he would know I didn't destroy the enemy flippantly. Suddenly I was glad I lost the screwdriver at some point. The Doctor could make a new, untainted one._

_But I could hardly tell him that. Instead, I shrugged and opened up the spot in my mind that allowed me to teleport._

_And the TARDIS' interior disappeared._

**Chapter 20**

**It All Falls Apart**

I really needed to practice proper landing. This was getting ridiculous. My knees skimmed the pebble beach, and I stood with hisses of pain. Without my coat, I felt bare and shiverish in the displaced gloom. The Thames gurgled before me. While regaining my balance, my foot splashed in a gray puddle.

I was alone, it seemed. Where did everyone go? Had I arrived too soon?

A moment later, however, my questions were answered.

"Oi! Mister smarty pants, what was _that_?"

I turned slowly and spotted John, Mary, and the TARDIS at the top of the beach. The Doctor jogged toward me with a look that probably could have fried an egg. I feigned boredom, and the Doctor stopped a few feet away from me. His mouth opened and closed furiously, but he could seem to decide what to say. Finally, with a disgruntled wave of his hands, he met my eyes sharply.

"You killed them?"

"No."

The Doctor snorted, eyes flying toward the river and back to me. He shook his head, and his voice dropped into a throaty (frankly terrifying) murmur. "Liar."

I pursed my lips. A small flare of anger sparked in me and I took a step toward him so that we were nearly chest to chest. "You have nothing to say to me, _Doctor_," I hissed. Perhaps it was unfair. "_No more_? Isn't that what you used to say?"

The effect was immediate. The Time Lord's eyes widened but he did not look away. "I did what I had to."

"As did I. And unlike you, I gave them a choice."

Now he sneered. "Daleks don't make agreements."

"Apparently, neither did they." I flicked my gaze to the river and back to him.

The Time Lord softened, just slightly. He frowned at his shoes for a moment before nodding. "Gave them a choice?" he muttered.

"Far more than I usually would."

The Doctor hummed and looked up again. Over his shoulder, I spotted John and Mary walking toward us. He sighed, and cast me one last long look before turning toward them. I read his face like a book. _I don't like it._

But he understood. What else could I ask for?

I gave John the briefest glimpse of a tired smile, and my friend smiled back. He reached me and shook his head. "You devil."

"It's not over yet."

Confusion. Three faces. "But…" John cocked his head. "They're gone. The creatures. They're gone. Right?"

"Mostly."

They probably would have argued with me but a sudden rumble shook the ground. A pulling, edgy electricity in the air. Our eyes flicked to the river. Where before the water was settling to its original position, it now frothed and whirled.

"Oh, gods," the Doctor whispered. He fell instantly in action. "What do you know, Sherlock?" Quickly, we turned and ran back to the TARDIS, slipping on the conglomeration of wet stones and sand.

"They sealed their leader some sort of lab, I believe. I heard them talk about it."

John nodded and shut the TARDIS door behind us. "Let's go stop that sucker."

I shook my head and stopped him with my hand. "No."

"What are you talking about! It's gonna swallow up-"

"Don't be dull, John. _We _are not going to stop it. You and Mary are going to stay here. You've nearly died more than once because you got involved."

John was speechless but his shock almost immediately became anger.

He stepped close to me and jabbed his finger into my chest. "I think you're forgetting, Sherlock Holmes, I am not defenseless. I have been in a fight before. I do not need babysitting. Maybe I'm not an alien like the Doctor or a… whatever the heck you are, but I am not some mindless stock-character to be used when you feel like it. Not to mention, every time you leave me out, something bad happens!"

I blinked. Glanced down at his finger. He had a point.

John stepped back with a huff.

I cleared my throat. Eyes slid to the floor. "I had no idea you thought that way."

Silence.

"I think you should let him come," Mary piped.

"I agree." the Doctor said, pressing several knobs. "You're good on your feet, John."

John raised an eyebrow and gestured toward them as if their words were supposed to convince me. "Yes, _thank you_. Oh, and he's not going to _let me._ I'm going."

Everyone was silent.

I did not want to back down.

But there was a giant submerged spaceship that was doing _something_ in the Thames River and we needed to stop it. Now.

One last try.

"I'll play the violin while you're sleeping."

"I'm going."

"I'll put drugs in your tea."

"Still going."

"Drat it, Watson." Throwing my hand into the air, I stormed to the other side of the room and sat there against the wall.

Idiot.

Of course, the TARDIS chose that time to hum in the back of my mind; chiding me for my, as she considered it, childlike short-sightedness. I scowled.

"My apologies," I muttered quietly, "I'm afraid I can't see into the future like you. I'd like to keep him alive."

Every time I stepped into the TARDIS, I felt like I could hear her more clearly; more precisely.

She vibrated in a way that felt like, _get over yourself._

I ignored her and let a sigh escape my lips.

The TARDIS landed. Still glaring at John, who now ignored me, I followed the Doctor toward the door. Mary didn't try to come with us. Which was strange. I would have thought she'd fight tooth and nail.

No matter. Maybe she didn't want to push it. She _was _mostly a stranger.

The Doctor opened the door and stood back. "Huh," he said.

Huh, indeed. The entire doorway was beneath the water but the water did not make any attempt to enter the TARDIS. It just sat there, held by the TARDIS' _will_, I suppose? The white walls of the spaceship were engulfed in water. We were inside the submerged ship.

Curious, the Doctor poked the water wall. His hand slipped in and out. "Alright. That's new. Cool, but new. We haven't got much time. I've sent us back a few minutes before that whirlpool. Should give us enough time to find the lab."

"How are we going to do that?" John asked. He ran his hand down the wall of water, fascinated. It rippled like the surface of a lake

"I'll use the screwdriver to locate signs of life. Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"Screwdriver?" He held his hand out for it.

I froze. "I… well, I might have misplaced it during the process of, well, everything."

The Doctor sighed. "You are impossible. Fine." He dashed off and ran back after a moment. He was holding a circular device in his hand. "Follow the beam of light. It'll point to the life form." He pressed a button on the side and a green laser shot out the door and into the murky depths beyond.

One by one, we slipped into the cool, holding our breaths. I took a look back at Mary before following John and the Doctor. She sat on a swivel chair, watching me. "This is unlike you."

"Not coming along? Yeah. I know. But I'll just get in the way. I know that."

I cocked my head, and my image of Mary shifted. It was obvious that saying those words hurt her pride, but she knew her limits. Either that, or she wanted us to _believe _that this was her limit.

No, I was overanalyzing.

With a final nod, I slipped off my coat, and stepped into the river. The cool hit my core like a physical punch, nearly causing me to spew my oxygen. The TARDIS doors shut behind me.

No going back now.

I swam after the Doctor and John, always following the green laser. The corridors twisted and turned and my lungs burned. Just a bit farther.

The laser stopped at the center of a large white door with a circular crank. It was the first door knob I had seen inside the spaceship. My mind was fuzzy, my lungs dying for oxygen, so I swam forward as quick as I could.

I met the Doctor's eyes. He was blurry under the water, not to mention it was rather dark, but I still saw him point at the door. Beside him, John hung in the water like a marionette doll, not moving a muscle. Suddenly afraid, I nudged him. Was he alright?

John grabbed my hand, squeezed and released.

If I had air to exhale, I would have done so in relief. Clever John. He was saving his oxygen as much as possible by not moving.

But I didn't have time to think about that. My chest felt like it was clawing itself out. Any second and my body would take over and force me to breath in. Kicking toward the door, I pulled John along.

The Doctor tugged at the hand crank. He didn't seem particularly bothered by the lack of oxygen just yet but he was moving quickly all the same. I took hold of the handle along with him and was about to pull when something changed.

The water. It pulsed and moved, popping my ears painfully.

The whirlpool had started. We needed to get in there now!

Pushing with all of our strength, the handle creaked and finally gave way. The door flew open and the water gushed through, thrusting us through like salmon.

Only to stop. Suddenly.

I tumbled out of the water and fell down several feet onto the glass floor. John and the Doctor followed. Another wall of water.

What?

"Oh, hello," said a voice cheerfully.

I scrambled to my feet, noting that I was completely dry. The wall had sucked every drop of moisture and kept it in place.

Quickly, I looked for the owner of the voice. I spotted him swiftly. He was sitting in a metallic chair, arms clasping the armrests like they would hold him up. His hands were skeletal and vein covered. Not one of the shadow-people, then. Their leader was of some other species. A tattered black cloak covered his face, and he spoke with a croak not unlike the call of a raven but with a sickeningly light-hearted lilt.

"I see you've come to stop me. I'm afraid it's too late. The machine is awake. The harvest has come and gone. Now comes dinner." I figured he was smiling, but I couldn't see his face beneath the Grim Reaper hood.

A bit melodramatic? Definitely.

I stood still. The harvest? That would be the harvest of the humans. The ice statues. Hastily, I glanced back at the Doctor. His eyes were dark.

"I know you," the Doctor said softly. "Grave Digger, you use to be called."

"That was a long time ago," the creature spoke, apparently pleased to be recognized. He peered at the Doctor beneath his hood and I caught a glimpse of red-rimmed eyes. Grave Digger chuckled. "What are _you _doing in this corner of the universe?"

"I could ask you the same."

The creature shrugged, and the Doctor pursed his lips. "Grave used to, well, dig graves for hire. Mass graves after war and that sort of thing. They only found out later that he fed on the remnants of freshly departed."

John cringed in horror. "That's disgusting."

Grave let out a raspy sort of cackle. "It all depends on your point of view, yes? These smoke creatures were of so much use in my old age, making it easier to be 'spoon fed' as they say. Unfortunate they're dead. But no matter." He coughed wetly.

A vulture. He was like a vulture. An old vulture who needed to be spoon fed human corpses, but a parasite all the same. I restrained my disgust and let my eyes bounce around the room. It was a laboratory, that much was obvious. White, with tubes of colored substances. Small, flickering flames. Strange bottles. A lava lamp? It smelled like mildew. A large, circular machine pulsed in the center of the room, and I noted only now that a long tube led from the machine to Grave's left arm.

So the people were in the machine, then. Food to this disgusting creature. Dead?

"No," the Doctor answered quickly, leaving me to wonder how he knew where my thoughts wandered. "Not dead yet."

Grave stood up rickety from his chair. "As soon as I'm finished, I'll have enough power to blast off of this backwater universe. The engines have already started, you see. You will never see me again."

"And you'll get away with the murder of dozens of innocents," the Doctor replied grimly. "No. We can't have that." He moved like lightning and suddenly the tube connecting the monster to his food supply was in the Doctor's grasp. Grave cried out in rage and reached out for him, but the Doctor jumped back and pinched the tube shut. "You should have found a darker corner to hide, Grave."

Right then, I saw why they called the Doctor the Oncoming Storm. There was a steel behind his eyes that made my stomach squirm.

After that moment, everything began to fall apart.

/

AN: Hello Shovians, I'm back. With an ending already written and soon to be posted. Rejoice brethren! And leave volumous REVIEWS! Gotta make sure you lot are still interested ;)


	21. Ragnarok

Chapter Twenty-One

Ragnarok

John and I approached the machine. It was snowglobe-like and made a soft sighing noise. The blue light from within cast an eerie glow on our faces. The Doctor was currently pulling up a metal panel at the base. And there it was. A red button. _Open. _How fitting. Sickeningly simple, really.

Behind us, Grave moved to stand.

"Sit." John's voice was almost irritated. He had something in his hand. A gun? Where he got that was beyond me. Not to mention, he'd been swimming with it…

Grave didn't seem to know that the gun probably was broken. He sat down with a huff.

Coward.

"Right!" said the Doctor cheerily. He stood up quick and clapped his hands once. "This has been… interesting. But I think we'll end it, yes? Empty the machine of your power source, hmm?"

I nodded and the Doctor bent down to press the button but, suddenly, a rush of foreboding overcame me and, without realizing it, I found my hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "Wait."

John cocked the gun behind me, still aimed at the monster, and I heard a soft chuckling. Turning swiftly, I glared down at the creature. "Something funny?"

The creature did not stop. He gave another chuckle that dribbled into a wet coughing fit. It truly was pathetic. I swept nearer. I _knew _it. Something was wrong. We missed something. _I_ missed something.

"What?" I hissed, searching his face. "What is it?"

"Stupid creatures. The whole lot of you. Even _him._" Grave looked up at me now, his hood just a bit back and I met his gaze for the first time.

I wish I could say that his eyes were entirely black or entirely red; a common cinematic trick to make it easier for the good guy to beat the bad guy. It dehumanizes the enemy.

In reality, I was not granted this grace. Grave peered up at me through hooded and baggy eyes, skin the color of rotten milk. He wore wisps of a rectangular mustache.

And his eyes… his eyes were sharp and blue and very human, narrowing as he dissected me visually. Here was a man who would do anything to get what he wanted. His clear intellect, his understanding of his actions… perhaps that just made it worse. He could eat anything he liked but he _chose to_…

"You are despicable," I spat.

"Sherlock-"

"No, he is." That was John.

I ignored them. "Tell me why you're laughing."

Now Grave did something meant to be a smirk. He looked like a stroke victim instead. "You can free them if you like. But it's a one-way ticket." He coughed and splayed spidery fingers. "Boom."

Instantly, I stepped back. Right. Okay. Could be bluffing…

No. He showed no signs of falsehood. We could free the people, but it would destroy all of us. The machine would detonate. Clever. Satisfyingly so. If we detonated it, we would all die.

Including the man who was formerly connected to the machine.

I glanced back at the Doctor, my mind whirling. _This will work. This will hurt. This will work._

I grabbed the Time Lord's wrist. And he protested. "Sher-"

But we were already gone. In the TARDIS.

We stumbled, skinning knees on the floor. Her presence overwhelmed me, and I sent a desperate message. _Don't let them leave. _Instantly, the Doctor scrambled clumsily to his feet and grabbed the front of my shirt. "Don't, Sherlock, you can't survive being blown into a bazillion-"

"Will it put the people back?"

"What? Yes, yes. They'll be fine. But-"

And then I was gone. John was still staring at the spot we disappeared a moment before. I didn't waste time. Grabbed his hand, teleported him out.

Then it was just me and the grave digger.

Was that surprise in his eyes?

"Well… this is an interesting turn of events. What's your name, boy?"

I ground my teeth at being called a boy but did not react outwardly. "Sherlock Holmes."

Grave cackled. "The detective, ey? And _what _exactly are you?"

With an eye roll, I bent down beside the red detonator. "If I knew, I would not tell you."

A grudging rumble. "And you think you're going to save the day? Kill me. Kill yourself. A hero."

I still didn't look at him. "I'm not a hero." The button seemed to pulse before me.

"Oh? I know of the Doctor's reputation. He does not keep company with anyone more interesting."

With a smirk, I turned. "You think you know me, then? Got me all figured out?"

"You saved your friends so that they would not have to die in this… unfortunate predicament. The only reason for you to detonate that thing," He pointed at the machine, "is to save a bunch of meals, excuse me, _strangers_." His blue eyes scrunchized me once more and my skin crawled. "From what I know of you, Mr. Holmes, for a hero, you've never been too concerned about the greater good. Not about the lesser ones who play in the background, ey? You and me, we're not so different. You use all the little, stupid humans. Because you ought to. After all, it's only our right that the strong prevail over the weak."

I said nothing but finally gave him a cold smile and stood. I tucked my hands deep in my pockets. "You're right, of course. I don't care about this city. I could care less whether those people lived or died."

"Exactly!" Grave hissed excitably.

"I honestly don't know the Doctor that well and would prefer I had never met him."

"A common sentiment."

I pursed my lips. "So you see, I'm not a hero. Never have been."

Silence. And then: "What will you do, Sherlock Holmes?"

Ah. Yes. What would I do... A sickeningly sweet smile lit my lips. "The thing is. There's a very small problem. Well, it's not small at all, really. Life or death." I dropped the facade and relished the flicker of fear in Grave's eyes. "You tried to kill my friends."

The creature opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, seeing his mistake, of course.

"And… I do not take kindly to others attempting to _eat_ them. You understand?"

He gulped as I leaned down over the button again. "But- but-" He moved to get out of the chair and I nailed him with my eyes instantly.

_Don't._

He fell back into his seat, as if from an invisible force. My eyes burned.

"Y-you will show mercy! You are a friend of the Doctor! You will-will-"

"Oh, _shut up._" I rolled my eyes. "You despicable cannibal. Did _you _show them mercy?" I stabbed my finger at the glass globe. The souls (for lack of a better word) swirled at the disruption. White hot anger boiled in my stomach, bleeding into my voice. "Did you show mercy to _John_ when you sent people to capture him, hmm? Did you? I had to _rewrite_ _time_ to undo your mess."

"You would do this for that man? For one man, you would destroy yourself." Grave's eyes were wide with fear (like they should be.) He tried to move, but something kept him in his seat. He trembled.

Now was the last moment. "For John?" I whispered, "I'd do anything."

I slammed my fist into the button.

And the world erupted in fire

/.

AN: wheew. had the hardest time ever on this chapter. sherlock is a bit dark here. Anyway, one more chapter to go! Bit of an epilogue, really. BUT DON'T WORRY! The story is not over yet :D I should start the new story as soon as I can and have it up. I'll place the title of the next book in the last chapter. On another note, I want this to be a series of books, but I can't think of a name for the series. Any ideas? Leave a REVIEW and tell me what you think of this ridiculous tale, folks ;)


	22. Epilogue

**_Epilogue_**

Wisps of morning fog curled delicately away from the river water while echoes of the city skyline spattered the surface, rippling and changing and inconsistent. Across the river, a small boat bobbed up and down and up and down.

The slap of water against the rocks, against the hull of the tiny boat, the small sighs of rustling clothing, the tires of a speeding bike, the call of a bird: even in this quiet place, early in the morning, there was no such thing as silence.

John didn't know why he kept coming here. What did he expect? Sherlock to rise out of its depths like the lady in the lake? He almost chuckled at the thought. Almost.

"So where is he?"

John started at the voice, turning slightly away from the gray river. The Doctor looked exactly as he had the last time John saw him. Bow tie. Tweed jacket. His hands twittered in and out of his pockets.

Then again, there were small differences. His jaw was set tight; his eyes sad. Very sad.

John opened his mouth, realizing he should respond. "I don't know." Speaking hurt. He didn't speak to many people of late. Accept Mary, perhaps. She kept letting herself in the flat. Make a cup of tea. Plonk it in front of him. He'd protest, and she'd say something along the lines of "Oh, shut up and drink it."

At first, it was annoying. Now, John nearly felt disappointed when she didn't show yesterday.

Funny how things are.

John pursed his lips. He recognized the difference in the Doctor now. Time had passed. "How long has it been for you?"

"Since I've been here? Oh..." the Doctor squinted at the sky. "I'm not sure, really. A long, long time." He sighed. "I got caught up in a bit of a mess once I went home and then… well, I was with Amy and Rory, and the TARDIS didn't want to come back here. So we bounced around a bit. A lot, I should say."

"Where are they now? Amy and Rory. Are they your friends?"

The Doctor's words came quietly. "Yes, yes they were. And they're… gone."

"Gone?"

"Yeah."

John looked down at his hands, twisted tightly around themselves. "I'm sorry."

Slowly, the Doctor nodded. He stepped forward so that they were shoulder to shoulder. "Me too…" he murmured.

John waited.

Suddenly the Doctor seemed to push his thoughts away. "I came across some information about Sherlock recently," he said, "And I said I'd come back, didn't I? So, here I am. Besides, this is a good… distraction."

John smiled sadly. He understood. They were both alone. Waiting.

"The TARDIS let me access something she wouldn't before."

John cocked his head, interested. "About Sherlock?"

The Doctor nodded. "Do you remember when I tested to see if he was human?"

"Of course."

"Well, he is."

"But?"

"Why do you assume there's a 'but'?"

"You'd hardly come back here to tell me something I already know."

"Touche." The Doctor make an attempt that was almost a smile but it dropped. He exhaled. "Anyhow, there's a file on Sherlock. He's… not what I expected, that is, if I interpreted the messages right. Let me just say, it is very unlikely that a mere explosion in the heart of a ship's radiator caused his untimely demise. If anything, he's damaged himself and been spit out somewhere on the planet."

John blinked. "Well, don't keep me guessing. I've had enough of that."

For the first time, a bit of the Doctor's former excitement trickled into his eyes. "You're not going to believe it."

* * *

I didn't remember anything outside of the pain for a long time. At least, it felt like a long time.

And then everything faded back. Slowly.

It smelled musky. Wet dirt. Rotting leaves. Rain. Squawking birds. Rushing water. _Where am I?_  
I tried to speak by found a finger pressed against my lips. I got a whiff of heavy perfume. Blinking open my eyes for a moment, and I caught a glimpse of a woman wearing the torn clothes of a man. Some sort of suit. There was wood beneath me. _I'm on a cart,_ I thought. The left wheel was smaller than the rest, making the ride rockier that it should have been.

"Hush, darling," the woman said. "We're almost home now."

Nauseous and exhausted, I could not protest. It felt like evening. Bugs zipped around us. My fuzzy vision expanded. A forest? No. Jungle. What?

"Shh. Soon I'll have you all rebooted. You'll see. Me and you, all put together again. I've been waiting for something like this to happen for _ages _so that I could track you_. _I ought to be angry, you running away like you did. But now I've found you, so I'm quite ready to forgive all that nonsense."

I blinked slowly, trying to comprehend. I was sluggish. Thinking through jello. How irritating. "Who are you?" I finally coughed.

The woman turned with a smirk in her eyes. "Of course. You don't remember me. You made yourself forget. So naughty." The woman reached up as if to pinch my cheek. I shrugged her away.

"Answer the question."

"The question," she said, "Is not who am I? But who are _you_?"

"_My_ name is hardly important."

The woman rolled her eyes, hand on her hip. "You really did a number on that memory file of yours. Seeing that you don't recall who you really are, _Sherlock Holmes_…" She pouted dramatically. "It seems I'll have to tell you." A grin. "My name is… well," She considered for a moment. "I suppose you can hardly call me _that _anymore. My name…. is Missy."

"Missy. Seriously?"

"Yes. The mistress, _Missy_. Is that so much worse that Sherlock_?"_

I said nothing.

"Thought not." She was silent for a good while longer, walking next to the cart along a thin trail. "Once upon a time," she murmured, "you were my precious."

I frowned. "Your precious, what?"

The word was a whispered wind; a longing exhale. "TARDIS."

* * *

_**AN: AHHHHHHHHH! I finished guys! I finally finished something!**_

_**But don't worry, I'm already working on the next story. It's called When Morning Dawns so just check on my profile until you see the little bugger. Anyway. I've given you an answer to his abilities... sort of. More of an explanation as to how exactly a TARDIS, the Master's TARDIS, at that, ended up as Sherlock Holmes in the next book. I know the Master had a TARDIS at some point in the Doctor Who series, but I'm not sure what happened to it in the new series so... I'm just making all of this up, lol.**_

_**Please leave glorious reviews! They have been such an encouragement throughout his endeavor. Thanks for reading! Hope to see you in the next**** installment!**_


	23. Notice about Book 2

Hi guys! This isn't a new chapter (sorry), but a notice about the next book. On my profile, the next installment can be found. It is called "When Morning Dawns". Thanks for reading!

-Etimire T.


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